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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483907">don't give it a hand, offer it a soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievalraven/pseuds/medievalraven'>medievalraven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Girls (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Politics, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots to Forced Allies to Fake Lovers to Real Lovers, Pre-Story Minor Character Death, Public Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:01:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievalraven/pseuds/medievalraven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I do this, there are a few conditions.”</p><p>Rio nods, waving a hand at one of the chairs he had set up in front of his desk.</p><p>“This is a partnership, okay?  You’ll listen to my advice and consult me before you do anything.  I’m not going to be playing clean-up for some asshole who can’t think through his decisions.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>--</p><p>When Rio's campaign manager suddenly leaves, he's forced to find another solution or sink his chances at becoming the next Mayor of Detroit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Boland/Rio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Girls Prompt-a-thon 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMaxime/gifts">MissMaxime</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Part of the 2020 Good Girls prompt-a-thon for this prompt: "Rio is running for mayor of Detroit but notices soon enough that there's a large part of voters not easily swayed for him.  When he meets Beth running a tight ship at a fundraiser, he wants her to run his campaign.  But she isn't as easily charmed as he thinks, but when he makes her an offer she can't refuse she takes him up on that offer."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“And thank you again to the Detroit library system for inviting me to speak this evening and for continuing to prioritize our children’s future in these changing times.  We’re all in this together!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light round of applause fills the room for a moment and Rio smiles, moving to the side to take a picture with the library director before heading back into the crowd, veering off when he spots Mick typing something on his phone at one of the high tables.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re all in this together!” Mick mocks, chuckling when Rio brushes past him before sliding over a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that’s not very mayor-like,” Mick comments, popping an entire cheese tartlet in his mouth, dropping crumbs in his beard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio rolls his eyes, taking a sip of the champagne and wincing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been attending these events - these fundraisers, luncheons, cocktail hours - for the better part of five months and they’re always the same.  Some weird kinda hors d’oeuvres that he has to eat fifteen of to feel full, a bunch of middle-aged women gossiping in dresses with necklines that plunge a little too low to be considered appropriate, their husbands too busy talking about finances or golf to notice them eyeing the young servers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s always fucking champagne.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christopher!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio sighs, downing the rest of his glass before turning to see the wife of some investment banker walking their way.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful speech darling!” she says, sweeping him into a tight hug, and Rio nods, stepping back quickly when he feels one of her hands start to slide down his back.  “I was just telling William how glad we are that you’re running this year.  It’ll be nice to have some new blood in the Mayor’s office.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I appreciate your support,” Rio replies, slipping back into his campaign persona.  And it should probably concern him how easily he can just turn it on.  How quickly he can become Christopher Ramirez, supporter of the arts, mayoral candidate, instead of Rio Ramirez, the guy who once lived on hot pockets for a month straight out of boot camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Mick snort behind him and Rio knows he’s thinking the same thing or maybe even remembering something worse, something more embarrassing.  It’s not like the guy doesn’t have years of experience dealing with Rio’s shit at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh it’s no problem at all.  Please let me know if there’s ever anything you need.  You know we’d be glad to throw a party on your behalf of course, if you wanted,” she adds, turning to place her hand on her husband’s arm when he comes to stand next to them, massive diamond ring on display, and Rio thinks idly that he could probably pay his mortgage for the next year with how much that must of cost her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be sure to pass that along to my campaign manager,” Rio comments, squaring his shoulders when he clocks the husband eyeing his tattoo.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman preens, smiling a little too much before waving to someone on the other side of the floor.  “Well don’t be a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kisses Rio, making sure to get both cheeks before disappearing, dragging her husband behind her like some kinda lap dog, and Rio has to bite the inside of his cheek as he watches the rug on the guy’s head bounce with each step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently money don’t buy everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, he reaches up to loosen the knot on his tie, the burn of the woman’s perfume still so fresh in his lungs, before sliding Mick’s plate closer and looking over what was left.     </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Gretch anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some emergency or something,” Mick grunts.  “I’m supposed to watch and make sure you don’t make an ass out of yourself.  Or more of an ass I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the man wearin’ a jacket two sizes too small, yeah?” Rio scoffs, skating his fingers over the half eaten desserts, finally picking up a macaron with delicate gold lettering on the top and taking a bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe he’d been wrong about these events always being the same, he thinks, moving to grab the other macaron only for Mick to yank the plate back hard enough it sends the pastry and some crumbs flying onto the floor.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mick gasps, glaring at him like he insulted his girlfriend or something which just makes Rio laugh before turning his gaze out over the crowd to see if he can spot the dessert table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a second to find it tucked away in a corner next to the ugliest flower arrangement he’s ever seen, and he’s about to walk over to get himself a plate (and get Mick more so he stops pouting) when he notices a woman in a navy dress come out of the kitchen directing a couple of servers holding a cake decorated to look like a stack of books.  She stands next to the table, gesturing to another of her assistants to move a different stand before guiding the cake down, smiling softly when she gets it organized the way she must want.  And Rio just lets himself watch her, following the way she’s bossing around the servers, getting them all lined up to take a picture in front of the cake, the confident way she holds herself that makes him want to know more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Johnson landed the Douglas endorsement, sounds like a done deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” Rio asks.  There’d been rumors about his opponent sniffing around Grant Douglas, some bigwig in construction or development or some shit like that, for weeks now, trying to win him over to get his money and support, but Gretchen hadn’t been able to substantiate any of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Overheard a couple of the suits talkin’ about it. Apparently Johnson promised him a pretty sweet tax break for his next project up in the market district that sealed the whole thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio hums, drumming his fingers on the table, the faint burn of envy winding up his spine when he thinks about all the unanswered calls he’d made to Douglas’ office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’ight then we just gotta step it up.  You hear back from any of Thomas’ people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mick nods, typing something into his phone and sliding it over to him to read, but Rio’s only able to get through the first line confirming a meeting the next week before he feels his own phone vibrate, the phone number of his babysitter flashing across the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves away from the table, waving off Mick’s raised eyebrows, to find somewhere quiet to talk with the babysitter, half-listening when she tells him about the nightmare Marcus had and shit he can hear him just wailing in the background, can picture the tears streaming down his face looking so much like - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Rio lets out a sharp exhale before striding out into the hallway, trying to find an unlocked door until finally one opens.  He ducks outside to stand in an empty loading dock while he tries to talk Marcus down, whispering words that he hopes soothe him enough to at least go back to sleep until he can leave the fundraiser, muttering a quiet thank you to the babysitter when she comes back on the phone before hanging up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s a little too hot to be outside in a suit, the first hints of the humid Detroit summer wrapping the city in its grasp, but Rio still leans back against the brick, needing just another minute to clear his head before going back inside and mingling.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door next to him flings open suddenly and he half expects to see Mick stumbling out, but instead it’s the woman he saw earlier, the one who’d been setting up all the desserts, only now she’s trying to light a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hasn’t noticed him yet, too focused on shielding her lighter enough from the light breeze to actually get a flame, and he should probably cough or something to let her know he’s there, but instead he just rolls his shoulders a little, lets his eyes drift over her body.  She’s still got on that dress from before, and up close he can see how well it fits her curves, how it clings to all the right spots and she’s definitely got her fair share of </span>
  <em>
    <span>right spots</span>
  </em>
  <span> that make Rio’s hands itch wanting to touch, find out if they’re real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s trying to work out if she’s got a ring on when she finally gets the lighter to click, taking a long drag from her cigarette before lifting her hand (ringless which yeah is good) to massage her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo,” he says, starting to feel like a perv for watching her for so long, “you got another one of those?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she jumps about a foot in the fucking air at his voice, coughing a bit before narrowing her eyes at him when he steps closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, thought you saw me there,” he adds, biting back a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously I didn’t,” she huffs, bringing the cigarette up to her lips again.  They stand there just looking at each other for what feels like forever before finally she rolls her eyes, exhaling a long stream of smoke and pulling out a cigarette and her lighter from her pocket, passing them over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It catches on the first go for him, the fire like a beacon in the darkness, and he takes a couple quick puffs, savoring the burn.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he mutters, and she hums, taking the lighter back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t smoked in years, gave it up back around the time he’d gotten serious with Rhea, but tonight, hearing the wobble in Marcus’ voice, left him wanting to fall back on the comfort of old habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All kinds of old habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made the desserts in there right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckles, eyes dropping to take in the edge of his tattoo peeking out from his shirt collar, the corner of her lips twitching.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think that macaron was the best fuckin’ thing I’ve had in years,” Rio drawls, taking another step towards her and pressing his shoulder into the brick, flicking some ash off his cigarette.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the tea,” she replies, smiling.  “I add earl grey to the mix and it brightens everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio nods, pursing his lips and following her next drag, tracking the falling embers that are the same shade red as her hair, and he wonders briefly if that’s real too.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell he hopes he gets to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caught some of your speech,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?  What’d you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs.  “Definitely wasn’t the worst one I’ve heard at these events.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Rio laughs.  “Not sure I have a lot of competition though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At a place like this?  Darlin’ just because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon up my ass doesn’t mean I can’t tell them exactly what they wanna hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say when he clocks how stiff she’s gotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you’re doing a great job,” she comments, voice laced in condescension, before checking the time on her watch and stomping out her cigarette.  “I have to get back if you’ll excuse me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, thanks again for the -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slamming shut cuts Rio off, and he watches it for a second not sure if he wants her to come back or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he looks down at his own cigarette before crushing it against the bricks and heading back inside too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how did everything go tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What Mick didn’t fill you in already?” Rio asks, tucking his phone against his shoulder so he could finish loading the dishwasher, smirking when he sees all the lima beans Marcus had left behind on his plate from dinner.  At least he hadn’t tried to hide them in his milk this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d hardly consider what Michael sent me a proper report,” Gretchen scoffs.  “Unless you consider ‘his speech was dope’ enough information to go by?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio laughs. “Well it was dope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gretchen sighs, something loud and put upon that just makes him laugh louder as he walks over to where he’d tossed his suit jacket on a chair earlier, groaning when he accidentally steps on a lego.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least tell me you found the time to talk to Fitzpatrick while you were there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio hums, shaking out a couple wrinkles on the jacket, trying to figure out if he has the time to get it dry cleaned before meeting with Thomas.  It’s not that bad really, but there’s some kinda gold powder on the cuff that he realizes somehow came from those stupid macarons.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and he had about fifty fucking questions for me, so thanks,” he says, laying the jacket down carefully over the back of the chair.  He’ll spray it with some of that fabric stuff later and it should be good for another week at least.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well considering he’s a reporter I would hope so,” Gretchen replies.  “And more questions means more publicity, Christopher.  Something you could stand to have more of since you’re polling twelve points below Johnson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bad huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing that can’t be fixed.  We knew this would be an uphill fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs out a breath, eyeing the locked liquor cabinet for a second before deciding to pour himself a whiskey.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This whole thing, this mayoral campaign, this uphill fight, had started because of Gretchen.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still not even sure how she found out about him, just knows that she’d shown up at his office about a year ago saying she represented a grassroots organization committed to getting more minorities and women into government offices and he was the perfect candidate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A classic rags to riches story.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A boy from the wrong side of the tracks that fell in with a gang when he was too young and was busted by the police for a petty larceny charge.  When given the choice between juvie or signing up for the military, he’d picked the army and completed two tours in Afghanistan before being honorably discharged and pursuing a college degree in social work, eventually landing a job as director for a youth center in the heart of the city where he’d been a pillar of the community.  A fierce advocate for children and the less fortunate in Detroit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a real triumph over adversity Gretchen liked to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Rio felt like a fucking cliche, a feel-good story that made people feel better about themselves and the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d only agreed when he realized how much this whole thing could help his old neighborhood and all the neighborhoods like it across town that had been neglected for years, bringing the power back to the people who needed it most.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he lost then at least he’d have made some new contacts for the youth center. It wasn’t the worst thing he could do.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even close to the worst thing he’d done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I did hear something interesting about the event tonight,” Gretchen says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently Elizabeth Boland was there, caused quite a stir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio takes a drink, trying to remember seeing anyone out of place tonight or anyone people had been watching, whispering about.  But he can’t place anyone outside the normal crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if sensing his confusion Gretchen exhales sharply before clarifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her grandfather was the former governor and she had been a regular at these things ever since she could walk.  My mother used to love seeing what dresses she’d wear even as a little girl, it was quite the big deal amongst the newspapers apparently.  Anyway a couple years ago there was talk that her husband was being tapped for an appointment to the State House of Representatives when he passed away suddenly. She basically disappeared after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So imagine everyone’s surprise when she showed up tonight as the caterer no less,” Gretchen chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of fucking course that was her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all makes sense now, her reaction, her comment about his speech which he’d thought had just been flirting but shit she’d probably heard enough of them in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She a red-head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh did you meet her?” Gretchen asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just saw her over by the dessert table I think,” Rio says, the lie rolling off his tongue so easily he wonders if maybe he was born to be a politician after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere above him he can hear a faint thud followed by the patter of little feet, the rattle of a doorknob, and he downs the rest of his drink quickly before it’s too late and he doesn’t have a chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’ight well I got to go, but we’ll talk tomorrow?  Thomas’ people finally got back about that meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually there’s one more quick thing,” Gretchen starts, hesitant.  “Look there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m actually going to have to step back from your campaign.  There’s been an emergency with my sister and unfortunately it seems like she’ll need my help for a period.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio coughs, the whiskey burning the back of his throat.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re jokin’ right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knows he shouldn’t get mad, understands completely that she needs to help her family (understands that too well really). But it doesn’t soften the blow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry Christopher.  For what it’s worth I still think you have a great chance to win this.  The agency will be in touch soon with more information, but in the meantime you’re always welcome to forward me any questions you might have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio sighs, turning to see Marcus standing at the bottom of the stairs, his favorite stuffed dinosaur clutched to his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for letting me know, I’m sure I’ll be in touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dial tone feels like a shot through his body, but he can’t dwell on it for too long, not when Marcus pads over and crawls on his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t sleep pop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus nods, burrowing into Rio’s side, the tail of the stuffed animal smacking his chin in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout we split a cookie then I’ll go tuck you in again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Choc’late chip?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah better than that.  It’s a special kinda french cookie,” Rio says, tickling his sides and smiling at the loud giggles. “C’mon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks Marcus up slowly, keeping him close before tossing his phone onto the coffee table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And shit talk about an uphill battle now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I think I speak for all of us when I say we can’t wait to work with you, Mr. Ramirez.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s going -” Rio starts, standing to shake Thomas’ hand when the new guy the agency sent over cuts in, pushing his way between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pleasure’s all ours.  We’re very excited about this new partnership.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they’d only been working together for a couple of days now, but it hadn’t been hard to figure out that the guy, this dick Turner, liked the sound of his own voice a little too fucking much.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel free to stop by the center next week sometime and I’ll give you a tour,” Rio adds.  “We’ll get you set up with some posters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great,” Thomas replies, raising his eyebrows when Turner heads out the door, and Rio has to bite back his laugh as he follows him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been a tough sale in the end, convincing Thomas to support his campaign.  Hell it’d been a tough sell for Gretchen and the agency.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas was no Douglas.  He wasn’t exactly a big player in the political world.  But he did have a whole lotta restaurants, real popular family places scattered throughout the city that could bring Rio a ton of exposure if his signs were hanging in the windows, posted on bulletin boards outside the bathroom.      </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d even managed to wrangle out some cash from the guy too, not a lot, but just enough to give them something to put towards more tv spots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did a good job in there,” Turner says when the door closes behind them, and it makes Rio snort because yeah he’d done more than a good job.  He’d landed the whole fucking thing himself despite how Turner had tried to swope in at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Rio mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks his watch quickly, nodding when he sees there’s still enough time to grab a coffee before he heads back to the center to get the kids organized for the new basketball league.  And he’s gonna need a lot of caffeine to get through that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shame we aren’t going to go through with the partnership.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio freezes, narrowing his eyes at Turner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This deal means nothing in the long run, Ramirez,” Turner replies, shaking his head.  “We need to focus our attention on the big fish and get you some endorsements that actually mean something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What like Douglas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turner shrugs.  “Or men like him.  Good, honest men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright,” Rio drawls, rolling his shoulders slightly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can call Thomas in the morning and explain that something came up.  Don’t worry about a thing, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, see if this thing between us is gonna work then we do it my way.  That means the deal with Thomas stands,” Rio drawls, holding up his hand when it looks like Turner is going to say something.  “Yeah this ain’t really up for discussion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turner scoffs.  “You know Gretchen really was wrong about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio watches as Turner storms off, waving at him when he drives past and he knows he’s gonna have hell to pay in the morning, but shit it’d been worth it.  He’d made a promise to himself when this whole thing started that he wouldn’t sell out and he’s not gonna start now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he tosses his jacket into the backseat of his car and rolls up his sleeves, smiling when he spots a little bakery across the street.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cute, not really the kind of place he’d usually go with its pink-striped awning and massive sign in some weird cursive that says </span>
  <em>
    <span>For the Love of Sugar</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Definitely more of a place for the mommy and yoga crowd, but he doesn’t exactly have any other options if he wants to get a coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air conditioning bites at his skin when he walks in and he almost wishes he’d kept his jacket on.  Shit it’s not even that hot outside yet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faintly he hears someone call out a greeting from the back and he smiles, taking his time to look over the pastry case while he waits.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s actually a nice little place despite the outside.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lived-in quality to the furniture and decorations, a warmth to everything, like each chair and table was picked for their comfort instead of their aesthetics, each picture hanging on the wall chosen for a reason.  It’s purposeful without being overbearing.  Yeah there’s a little too much floral for his taste, but it’s still better than all those hipster places Mick likes to drag him to near his townhouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the name is the stupidest thing he’s seen lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about the wait, can I help you with anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio hums, pausing when he clocks a familiar tray displayed on the bottom row of the case.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, how about a dozen of your macarons?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s almost funny, how Elizabeth drops the little plastic paper when she realizes it’s him, her eyes snapping down to the tattoo on his neck before she can stop herself.  He’s got the top couple of buttons undone thanks to the heat, showing off the full piece that had seemed like a great idea at seventeen and now served as a reminder of a past he can’t quite shake just like the gold gun locked away in his closet.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fancy seein’ you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth rolls her eyes, grabbing a small box and lining it with paper.  “I assume you’d like the earl grey ones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio nods, grinning with Elizabeth huffs out an annoyed breath.  She’s got a little bit of icing on her cheek, a pale yellow that covers her apron too, and he wonders idly what she’d been working on in the back, if it’s for another fundraiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you add one of those shark cupcakes?  Pretty sure my son will lose his shit over that,” Rio laughs, and Elizabeth smiles, pulling out the tray and carefully looking over the cupcakes before picking one out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She carries the desserts over the register and starts to ring him up when there’s a crash from the back, and she’s already pushing through the door before he can process what’s happening, stopping to mumble a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>be right back’</span>
  </em>
  <span> as she disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his emails while he waits.  There’s already one from Gretchen and he groans softly at how quickly Turner had ratted him out.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asshole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio scoffs, hitting reply and typing out his side of the story when his eyes clock a picture behind the register of Elizabeth with a smaller blonde girl, the two of them standing on a staircase dressed in nice clothes.  He looks back down at his phone, the half-written explanation flashing back at him, and slowly presses the x button. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sorry again,” Elizabeth says, stepping back into the store and wiping her hands on her apron.  “The macarons and cupcake come to $22.47.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you like the location here?” Rio asks, passing over some cash.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth shrugs.  “It’s a good spot.  There’s a lot of foot traffic and we’ve built a solid group of regulars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shame you’ll have to move,” Rio drawls.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I move?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio purses his lips, dropping the change into the tip jar.  “Just that new development that’s supposed to go through here.  They’re gonna have to demolish everything to make room for all the condos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just a rumor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, Johnson signed the deal the other day,” Rio says.  “Seems to me like we share a mutual problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth laughs.  “We?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, darlin’.  Only one way that development doesn’t happen and I just happen to be in the market for a new campaign manager,” Rio replies, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this really your way of asking if I’ll help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figure you got the experience, we both want to see Johnson lose.  It makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth bristles, turning to wipe down the counter, pull empty trays from the case, and Rio rocks his jaw a little, taking her silence as an answer.  And shit he knew it was a longshot, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches out to grab the bag, almost doesn’t even want the macarons now, when he sees her eyes dart over to the picture, and okay maybe it wasn’t such a longshot after all.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if you change your mind,” Rio says slowly, placing one of his business cards on the counter.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He deletes the email to Gretchen in the car.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shows up at his office the next day, wearing that same navy dress from the fundraiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I do this, there are a few conditions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio nods, waving a hand at one of the chairs he had set up in front of his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a partnership, okay?  You’ll listen to my advice and consult me before you do anything.  I’m not going to be playing clean-up for some asshole who can’t think through his decisions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do we have a deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rio hums, watching the curl slip free again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it boss.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Title from Hozier's It Will Come Back)</p><p>Many thanks to my wonderful mystery prompter for the inspiration behind this fic - I hope you enjoy it and that it doesn't deviate too far from what you'd expected!  This fic really really blew up on me so there will be a part two, but I wanted to post something on my due date (AO3 may say June 1, but my heart will always know it was posted on May 31st).</p><p>This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine, but I do want to thank fortunehasgivenup for bouncing ideas with me and helping me make this fic even better.  She's the best!.  </p><p>And thank you to everyone else for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!  I really appreciate it and you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains a brief but non-graphic description of a pre-story minor character death, if you'd like to avoid this section it's towards the very end and starts at "The rain..." and ends at "And now because..."  If you're not sure if you would like to avoid this, skip to the end for a spoiler.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yeah I still don’t see what the problem is.”</p><p>“The problem is that you didn’t even ask me if I was interested,” Mick huffs through the phone.  “Should have known you’d just follow your dick.”</p><p>Rio bristles.  Like Mick’s one to talk anyway.  He’s pretty sure the only reason he even got that fucking feather tattoo above his eyebrow was because some chick with a nice rack had said it’d look ‘stunning with his bone structure.’</p><p>“You really want the job?”</p><p>And shit wouldn’t that be hilarious, Rio thinks as he turns into the parking lot of <em> For the Love of Sugar </em>.  Mick and Elizabeth working together?  He’d be cleaning up blood after twenty minutes and he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be Elizabeth’s.  She might not seem like the type to get her hands dirty, but he had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she wanted everyone to think. </p><p>“Fuck no. Then I’d be responsible for your sorry ass and I can barely handle dealin’ with you now,” Mick says, voice muffled like he’s eating something.  “It just would be nice to be considered though.”</p><p>“Aw did someone get his feelings hurt?” </p><p>“You’re a real asshole, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.  Look I gotta go, but we still good for beers later?” Rio asks, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat and heading towards the bakery, groaning softly when he’s met with a wall of cold air.  </p><p>And he’s really gotta ask Elizabeth if she's okay because there’s no reason for anyone to need the air conditioning this low.  </p><p>He’d even thrown on his favorite plaid shirt today for this exact reason, hoping the extra layer would help him with communing with the penguins and shit in the shop, but he can still feel the cold just seeping into his bones.</p><p>“Whatever, you’re buying though,” Mick grumbles, hanging up before Rio can respond, and he just rolls his eyes, knowing they’re gonna have to go to that stupid hipster bar with those stupid artisanal drafts that taste like flowers if he doesn’t want to deal with Mick sulking for the next week.</p><p>Sighing, he checks the time quickly before sliding his phone back in his pocket, eyes sweeping over the bakery.  </p><p>Elizabeth had emailed the night before asking him to come in so they could talk strategy and plans moving forward, wanting to make sure they were on the same page as they geared up for a summer full of non-stop campaigning.  </p><p>It’d actually reminded Rio of his first couple of meetings with Gretchen. How they’d both used the words ‘we’ or ‘you’ when they talked about anything, always making sure he was in the loop or had a voice. </p><p>The bakery’s more crowded than it was the other day.  Most of the tables are filled with college students on laptops or women in yoga clothes and there’s a young kid, probably only a couple years older than Marcus, sitting near the window reading a battered copy of <em> Lord of the Rings </em>, but no Elizabeth.  </p><p>He wanders over to the counter, joining the short line queueing, watching as a petite blonde rushes to fill the orders.  There’s music playing today, something with an edge that doesn’t quite fit the whole aesthetic of the place, but he figures the blonde must have picked it because she’s bobbing her head and mouthing along to the lyrics as she pours coffees and bags pastries.</p><p>“Alright, I got a large mocha latte with an extra shot and one lemon cookie,” the woman says, pushing the items at the customer in front of him, giving them a salute when they drop a dollar in the tip jar on their way out before turning to take Rio in.  “And what can I get you on this fine day?”</p><p>“Elizabeth around?”</p><p>The woman narrows her eyes at him, squaring her shoulders slightly like she’s trying to be more intimidating, which would fucking work a lot better if she wasn’t wearing blue glitter eyeliner or a sparkly star clip in her hair like she’d just started middle school or some shit.</p><p>And she’s just opened her mouth to reply when the doors to the back swing open and Elizabeth walks out, immediately turning to the speaker system they have set up and lowering the volume.</p><p>“Annie what did I say about changing the playlists?”</p><p>“Look, I’m just giving the people what they want,” Annie comments, shaking her head before moving to help the next customer.</p><p>Elizabeth smiles, nodding at Rio when she notices him standing off to the side, and it’s only then that he clocks both the massive binder she’s trying to balance with her coffee mug and the glasses she’s got on that make her blue eyes more piercing.  It almost reminds Rio of that one librarian he’d had a crush on when he was a teenager, and well isn’t that something.</p><p>“Do you want anything before we start?  I have us set up over near the window,” she says, topping off her own cup. </p><p>Rio turns to look at the tables again, chuckling when he sees a box sitting next to that kid’s table, the words ‘1 of 5’ written clearly on the side in black marker, and maybe he is going to need a drink to get through all that. </p><p>She gets them settled quickly, sliding him a cappuccino before striding over to the windows and pulling on the kid’s headphones. </p><p>“Hey, think you can help out your aunt for a little bit?”</p><p>The kid shrugs, and for a second Rio thinks Elizabeth’s going to have to push harder when he dog-ears the page he’s on and heads to the counter, begrudgingly accepting a hug from Annie when he pulls on an apron.</p><p>“Family business huh?”</p><p>Elizabeth laughs, cleaning up the crumbs on the table quickly before dropping her binder down and thumbing through the tabs. </p><p>“Something like that I guess.”</p><p>“How old’s your son?”</p><p>“Kenny just turned nine,” she smiles, glancing over at the counter.</p><p>Rio hums. “Good age.”  </p><p>Well usually<em> , </em> he thinks, looking over at the counter too, watching as Kenny carefully plucks a cupcake from the case and puts it on a plate, rolling his eyes at whatever Annie is chattering on about.  </p><p>“So far, so good,” Elizabeth agrees easily.  “Okay enough small talk, let’s get to business.”</p><p>She turns the binder to face him, and shit she’d only accepted his offer two days ago and still had the time to put all this together?</p><p>“Right now Johnson is polling about six points above you, which isn’t a lot, but we have to close the gap before it’s too late.”</p><p>Rio nods, reading over the chart detailing voter preferences and demographic information.  </p><p>“He already has the advantage of name recognition since he served on the city council and you can see here,” Elizabeth pauses, pointing at a pie chart further down the page, “that he leads you in support from voters based in the northern part of the city.”</p><p>“You mean all the rich people?”</p><p>And look it’s not exactly a surprise to Rio, he’s used to it even if it is a bunch of bullshit.  He knows what some people think when they see him and clock the tattoo covering his neck, the dark clothes he likes to wear.  He’s had enough women clutch their purses a little tighter, pull their kids a little closer, had enough couples cross the street when they see him coming.  </p><p>Elizabeth clears her throat, and he rocks his jaw a little waiting to see what she says, how she’ll talk around it all, what politically correct shit she’ll try to use, only she doesn’t.  </p><p>“Basically.”</p><p>Rio laughs, grinning when he spots Elizabeth trying to hide her own smirk.</p><p>“But a lot of that too is old family ties,” she adds.  “These people have known Johnson for years and they all invest in each others’ businesses, we won't be able to flip their loyalty which is why we aren’t going to be focusing on them too much.”</p><p>“What are you proposin’?”  </p><p>“We’ll brand you as the every-man candidate, a real man of the people, of the community,” Elizabeth says.  “Your deal with Thomas is a good start towards that.”</p><p>“A’ight so -”</p><p>“Please tell me you’re talking about his Instagram,” Annie says, dragging a chair over to their table and sliding the binder closer, groaning loudly when she sees all the charts.</p><p>Elizabeth sighs, tugging the binder back with more force than he’d expect while glaring at Annie. </p><p>“We’re in the middle of a meeting, Annie. Shouldn’t you be working?”</p><p>Annie shrugs.  “Lucy’s here and watching Kenny so relax.  You two need my help more anyway.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with my Instagram?” Rio asks, trying to break the tension and at least it works because suddenly they’re both looking at him instead of each other. </p><p>“Have you seen it?” Annie replies, shifting her weight enough to pull her phone out of her pocket. She taps around the screen for a second, mumbling to herself as she tries to find the page, and he watches Elizabeth cross her arms over her chest, clearly pissed over this change of plans. “I mean look at this.”</p><p>Annie turns her screen and Rio just nods. It’s not a bad picture, part of a series Gretchen had done in the spring with him posing at different city landmarks. And maybe he looks a little stiff, little irritated standing next to the old Ford plant, but they’d already taken eight million pictures by that point and he still looks pretty fucking good all things considered.  </p><p>(Not that he’s ever taken a bad picture.)</p><p>“A vote for Ramirez is a vote for assembling a better tomorrow,” Annie reads, rolling her eyes. “I mean seriously?”</p><p>“Annie…” Elizabeth warns. </p><p>“Look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh,” Annie sing-songs, pausing on a picture of him smiling outside the Motown museum. </p><p>Rio scoffs, clenching his jaw to bite back the comments he wants to make, and really this chick has a lot of balls to critique him anyway.  He leans forward slightly to grab at the phone only Elizabeth beats him to it, holding it just out of reach from Annie before scrolling through the pictures herself, ignoring the squawk of indignation from her sister.  </p><p>And Rio doesn’t even bother hiding the smirk on his face, especially when Annie starts pouting, but then Elizabeth has to ruin it all. </p><p>“You know she does have a point.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“They’re not bad pictures,” Elizabeth says quickly, shaking her head as she keeps flipping through the images.  “But it’s all way too posed, too perfect.”</p><p>“Well they weren’t exactly my idea.” </p><p>Elizabeth chuckles.  “You didn’t strike me as the kind of person to just do whatever someone else tells you.”</p><p>And shit he’s not, not even close.  Hell he can probably call about fifteen people right now that would describe him as too bull-headed for his own good.  But before he can even start to correct her Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at him in challenge, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and then he’s right back at that night in the fundraiser, watching her smoke that fucking cigarette, remembering how dainty her fingers looked when she took a drag.  </p><p>Then he’s trying to shift as subtly as he can in this stupid velvet armchair, trying to get control even as her eyes drop to his neck, his lips, and he knows she’s probably remembering the exact same thing.  </p><p>Or at least she probably was until Annie’s voice breaks through the fog, shattering whatever was happening.</p><p>“Wait, you have a kid?”</p><p>“Do I have a what?” Rio asks, rolling his shoulders slightly as he turns to look at Annie, who’s somehow gotten her phone back and is scrolling through a different page, and shit how did she find his personal account?</p><p>“God this is what you should be posting!” Annie comments, pausing on an old picture of Rio with Marcus heaved over his shoulder, a dirty soccer ball dangling from his small hands, and he can almost hear his son’s giggles now.  “It’s like a million times better than any of that other stuff.”</p><p>Elizabeth huffs, looking back over to the counter, following Kenny as he helps a customer before clearing her throat.</p><p>“We aren’t going to use his son as a marketing tool.”</p><p>“Come on,” Annie mumbles. “Look he’s already like a massive Babe-raham Lincoln, but throw in a cute kid?  Shit, it would even make me vote for you.”</p><p>“Lincoln wasn’t even a mayor, Annie."</p><p>“Mayor, President, who cares,” Annie scoffs.  “All that matters is you’re missing your shot at netting a lot of votes here.”</p><p>Elizabeth sighs, tapping her pen on the paper for a moment before writing something down, smiling softly when Annie pauses on a picture of him looking over construction drawings from the youth center expansion.</p><p>“Well we could definitely do more candid shots.  There are some good ones here.” </p><p>Rio laughs, taking a drink of his coffee, and okay maybe this wasn’t such a bad suggestion after all.  He doesn’t really want to parade around Marcus any more than he has to, but he had some pictures from his days in the service and some other shit that they could probably use.</p><p>“Hey, you know what would make people really go crazy?”</p><p>“Annie, don’t you have work to do?” </p><p>“A good old fashioned love story,” Annie continues, ignoring Elizabeth’s thinly veiled warning.  “Picture this - one rainy afternoon a young single dad meets a beautiful widower at a bakery.  Their connection is undeniable and together they overcome their pasts to rediscover love and the meaning of life.”</p><p>“How many fuckin’ Hallmark movies have you watched?” Rio drawls, glancing over at Elizabeth when he clocks her stop writing to look out the window.</p><p>“That’s not the point,” Annie says.  “Seriously this could get you a lot of support especially when you throw in <em> two </em> cute kids and the ol’ Marks name.  People will be eating out of your hand.” </p><p>And Rio just rolls his eyes, ready to get back to those stupid color coded charts, which makes Annie huff as she pushes back her chair to head to the counter again.</p><p>“You only hate it because you didn’t come up with it first.”</p><p>He hums, tugging the binder closer to see what Elizabeth had been writing only to stop when she sighs and finally looks back at him.</p><p>“How badly do you want to beat Johnson?” </p><p>--</p><p>“Okay I take it back,” Mick laughs later that night, lifting his hand to order another round of melon and blueberry beers even though Rio’s barely touched his drink.  “I’m <em> really </em> glad you didn’t ask me to be your campaign manager.”</p><p>--</p><p>They make their official debut as a “couple” the next week with an Instagram post highlighting all the people working behind the scenes of his campaign.  </p><p>And really Rio still doesn’t get why anyone would give a shit that they were dating, why it would even matter when there are other more important issues, but Elizabeth had been pretty pushy about it being part of their new strategy and if he’s learned anything it’s that she’s got good instincts for this kind of stuff.</p><p>Hell it’s why he recruited her in the first place.</p><p>So he lets it play out just to see what happens, poses for the stupid “candid” couple picture and tries to not cringe when he sees her caption about finding love in the middle of the battlefield of politics, just hands over all the log-in information for the account and sees himself out of the whole thing.</p><p>Only then, well then it all really fucking blows up on him.</p><p>He’s in the middle of a meeting at work when Mick sends the first screenshot, some shoddily cropped picture of a random account on the most recent picture of him and Elizabeth commenting that they’re #goals, and Rio barely has a chance to wrap his head around it when Mick sends another and another until there’s enough screenshots it takes him a solid five minutes to scroll through them all.</p><p>And he’s really starting to question how much free time people seem to have (because who really cares about what their couple name should be?) when an email pops up from a local paper asking for an interview.</p><p>Then another.</p><p>And another until suddenly Rio’s getting requests for press from across the country.  He even manages to land on a buzzfeed article for the <em> 25 Hottest Candidates Up For Election This Fall. </em></p><p>(Number four, not that he’s bragging.)</p><p>So when he pulls up to his next campaign event and sees the crowd gathering around the park, it’s not totally a surprise, but something that still feels weird, like it was earned with a lie and not deserved. </p><p>He spots Mick standing off to the side, unmistakable in his bright red campaign shirt, chatting a little too eagerly with Lucy, one of Elizabeth’s bakers, and Rio can’t help the smile spreading on his face as he goes to get Marcus out of his booster. It’d been a couple months since Mick had ended things with Ethan and it'd be nice to not have him so fucking moody all the time. </p><p>“Wanna help out?” Rio asks his son, passing him a small backpack full of toys and books to keep him occupied until Rio’s parents would pick him up for the night.  </p><p>Marcus nods, face serious as he shrugs on the bag and takes Rio’s hand.  </p><p>It takes him a moment to find Elizabeth mixed in with all the people, finally catching sight of her wearing her own red shirt near the table set up to register new voters, deep in conversation with a disinterested looking Kenny, and he’s been on the giving end of that too often at his work to know immediately that that isn’t something he wants to be involved with right now.</p><p>Veering over towards the monkey bars instead, he gets Marcus situated before relieving a nearby volunteer stationed at a table overflowing with freebies with his slogan plastered on them, waiting until they’re gone to pick up a bumper sticker and slowly run his fingers over his name. </p><p>There’s something about seeing it printed like this, the permanence of it, that still catches him off guard. Like this isn’t a far fetched dream, that this could actually be his future, a new beginning. </p><p>“Mom wanted me to bring these over for you,” Kenny sighs, breaking Rio’s focus as he places a box on the already crowded table, and Rio wants to groan when he sees Elizabeth’s handwriting on the top labeling the contents as even more promotional shit.</p><p>“This the last of ‘em?” Rio asks, trying to carefully move the box to the grass without toppling all the other cards and pamphlets.</p><p>Kenny shrugs, attention already back on his phone and shit, Rio thinks, lifting his hand to wipe away some of the sweat on his brow, this really is the first time they’ve ever talked to each other and he isn’t exactly sure what Elizabeth actually told the kid about their whole situation.  </p><p>At least with Marcus he could still play the whole special friend angle without any questions, but Kenny was definitely old enough to see through that shit and Rio’s been around enough kids to know that this could really only play out one of two ways for him. </p><p>“Sorry you had to give up your Saturday for this,” he starts, pulling a shirt from the box to fold.  “I know it ain’t exactly that much fun.”</p><p>“My Dad and I used to go to these with Grandpa,” Kenny says quietly, surprising Rio when he slides his phone back in his pocket and picks up some can cozies to place on the table.  “And Mom said I could either help here or at the store, and <em> all </em> Aunt Annie wants to listen to lately is Hamilton.”</p><p>Rio chuckles, a joke about Kenny being forced to pick his own kind of political party dying on the tip of his tongue when he notices a news crew wandering over towards Elizabeth.</p><p>“Well I know Marcus is happy you picked us,” Rio smiles, laying the folded shirt on the table before fishing out his wallet and grabbing a ten.  “Why don’t you two go get some ice cream and play for a bit, yeah?”</p><p>Kenny nods, smiling back at Rio as he takes the bill from his hand and runs over to Marcus, bending to fix his shoelace before they walk over to the ice cream truck. </p><p>And Rio just watches the two of them for a minute, makes sure Kenny orders something for both of them before looking back over at Elizabeth.  She’s talking to the news crew now, laughing over something and judging by how much the pimply-faced intern’s struggling to set up the tripod he figures he’s probably got a couple minutes to relax before she waves him over and campaign Christopher has to come out.</p><p>“Nice event you have here.”</p><p>Or not.  </p><p>“Don’t exactly remember invitin’ you,” Rio replies, narrowing his eyes when Turner, clad in a three piece suit despite the humidity, steps up next to him at the table and reaches out to grab one of the pamphlets, flicking through the pages.  </p><p>Turner hums, tossing the paper, now folded inside out, back on the table, hands tucking into his pockets as he scans the crowd, stopping on Elizabeth. </p><p>“Well I don’t remember you ever mentioning a girlfriend.”</p><p>Rio rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to stop himself from fixing the pamphlet on the table, from giving this asshole any satisfaction. </p><p>And really he’d been waiting for Turner to show up again for a while now, ever since that article hit in the Detroit Free Press, looking to weasel his way back in and parlay Elizabeth’s connections into something better for him.</p><p>“Seems pretty convenient is all,” Turner adds. </p><p>“Was there somethin’ you needed?” Rio bristles, glancing back at Elizabeth quickly. She’s moved enough that he can’t see her face, but the intern’s finally figured out the equipment and it’s only a matter of time before she comes over to check on him and remind him about the schedule. </p><p>“Just wanted to stop by with my client.”</p><p>“You forget that I fired you?” Rio laughs, and based on the glare Turner levels him he definitely hasn’t.</p><p>But then the glare fades and transforms into a sharkish grin that makes Rio pause.</p><p>“You’re not the only candidate in this town, Ramirez,” Turner says, gesturing over towards the swings where Johnson’s standing, talking with a young family, looking like he’s two seconds away from kissing a damn baby or some other cliche shit. </p><p>Rio scoffs, and shit he’d really wanted to beat Johnson before, but now that Turner’s involved?  He doesn’t think he’s been this motivated to do anything since boot camp when he ran ten miles in full gear to get out of cleaning duty for his entire tour. </p><p>He opens his mouth, ready to cut Turner down a peg, or twenty, when Elizabeth calls out for him, her soft voice echoed quickly by Marcus’, waving him down when he glances over his shoulder at them. </p><p>“You don’t want to keep them waiting,” Turner comments, raising his hand to wave back before walking over towards Johnson, stopping only a few feet away to sweep his arms out and add, “Oh and good luck with her.  Hopefully things turn out better for you this time.”</p><p>Turner strides away then, pulling a few postcards out of his pocket to pass along to the family when he meets Johnson, and Rio just watches as he shakes hands with the father, smiling wide, before grabbing the pamphlet Turner was looking at and crumbling it.</p><p>“Everything okay?” Elizabeth asks, coming to stand next to Rio, eyes curious as her hand finds the small of his back, and he just knows she heard Turner, can hear the unasked question she’s dying to ask enveloping them.</p><p>And there’s a part of him that wants to tell her, unpack it all, but not now, not when he has to go stand in front of a camera and seem all calm and respectable.</p><p>So instead he just slides on his best fake smile and presses back into her touch.</p><p>“Yeah, never better darlin’.”</p><p>Elizabeth nods, sliding her hand around his waist to guide him over to the camera, glancing over her shoulder as they walk away, furrowing her brow for just a moment before meeting his eyes again.</p><p>“Well I hope you’re ready for your close-up then, hot shot.”</p><p>--</p><p>“ - then I look up and there he is, fuckin’ clappin’.”</p><p>Mick snorts, taking a long drag from his vape.</p><p>“Man that guy’s really got it in for ya, huh?”</p><p>“Shit you don’t know the half of it,” Rio replies, scrubbing his hand along his chin.</p><p>Because Turner showing up at the park was apparently just the tip of the iceberg.  </p><p>For weeks now he’d popped up at every event, every fundraiser, every speech, <em> everything, </em> just lurking in the back, taking pictures and shit, always managing to disappear before Rio could get to him, a neat stack of cards with Johnson’s face printed on them the only sign he’d been there at all.    </p><p>He’d even swung by Elizabeth’s bakery. </p><p>And of course that’d been the one day that Rio was running late for their weekly strategy session after getting stuck helping with something at the youth center.  He’d slipped in maybe fifteen minutes after they were supposed to meet to see Turner and Elizabeth locked in some kind of heated stalemate, whispering back and forth so they didn’t run off any customers.  </p><p>It took them a minute to realize he was there, but when they did Turner had just smirked, leaning in close for his final parting words before squeezing Elizabeth’s arm and leaving.  </p><p>She’d been distracted for the rest of their time, uncharacteristically quiet and all cagey when he’d asked what happened, eyes flitting over to the door every time the chime rang out.  But then the next day she’d emailed him a link to a shared calendar filled with color-coded tasks and meetings for every single day until the end of eternity.  </p><p>“You sure he’s not just lookin’ for something else?”</p><p>“Nah, I ain’t his type,” Rio scoffs, remembering how close Turner and Elizabeth had been standing, the way Turner’s gaze seemed to follow Elizabeth just as much as it did him.  </p><p>“If you say so,” Mick mutters, blowing out a big puff of sugary scented smoke, and Rio’s ready to make a comment about how real men don’t pick fucking cotton candy vapes when his phone chimes on the coffee table with one of Elizabeth’s stupid reminders.  </p><p>
  <em> Sign &amp; drop-off registration papers. </em>
</p><p>And he’s about to just swipe away the notification and keep watching the game when he sees it’s tagged as double red which means Elizabeth is going to be on his ass if he doesn’t actually do it now.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>-- </p><p>So he leaves in the middle of a fucking no-hitter by Ruiz just to find the papers the board of election had mailed earlier in the week, all to avoid a lecture from Elizabeth on responsibility or time management or whatever else. </p><p>Except when he stops by <em> For the Love of Sugar </em>to drop them off she’s not there.  </p><p>Not up at the front counter helping the handful of customers looking at the dessert case. Not in the back office pouring over spreadsheets and order forms. Not sitting at the corner table with Kenny, helping with his math homework. </p><p>And he’s typing out <em> another </em> text to her (because fuck knows he doesn’t want a repeat of the garden club incident) when the curly haired night manager appears out of the back, waving quickly before telling him that Elizabeth was off for the night but he could always try her house, ripping off a piece from the receipt pad and scrawling an address.</p><p>An address all the way across town from the bakery.</p><p>It’s a good neighborhood though, he thinks as he pulls onto her street, full of solidly built houses with history and character, each place unique in it’s own way not like those fucking cookie-cutter developments on the outskirts of the city.  </p><p>He finds her house easily enough thanks to the bright red Mini Cooper parked in the driveway like a beacon, and he pulls up along the curb, sitting in his car for a minute as he flips through the papers to make sure it’s all there, looking over the house.</p><p>If he was being honest he’d always expected Elizabeth to be living in the suburbs, maybe a quaint little brownstone in the nice part of town.  Something with a little more gravitas than the little colonial in front of him now with it’s faded yellow paint and rusted gutters.  </p><p>But shit he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving.  </p><p>Slamming the car door behind him, he makes his way up the front path, carefully avoiding the cracks in the concrete before finally ringing the doorbell and waiting, envelope clutched in his hand.</p><p>Only it’s not Elizabeth who answers the door.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Rio takes a small step backwards to avoid being hit by the storm door as a man fills the doorway, a bottle of beer dangling in his grasp.</p><p>“Can I help you with something?”</p><p>“Elizabeth home?” Rio asks, eyes glancing over to the brass numbers hanging next to the doorframe, trying to figure out if maybe he’d gone to the wrong house by mistake.</p><p>The man chuckles, shaking his head.</p><p>“Elizabeth, huh?”</p><p>“Sorry man, I must have the wrong - ” Rio starts, already over this guy when another voice breaks through.</p><p>“Was that the door?”</p><p>The man hums, moving to the side so that Elizabeth could stand next to him in the doorway, a glass of wine in her hand and <em> shit </em> what had he interrupted.</p><p>She looks away from the man, angling herself enough to look out at her doorstep, sliding on a polite smile that turns to a soft gasp when she sees Rio standing there.</p><p>“What are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Just got those papers you wanted,” he says, waving the envelope before adding, “I tried callin’.”</p><p>Elizabeth’s eyes widen as her hand slides to her back pocket, swaying slightly into the man as she comes up empty, and there’s a kind of familiarity between them Rio thinks as he watches the man reach out to steady her.  The kind of comfortable you only get from knowing someone for years.</p><p>And shit it had been a long time since he felt this unbalanced, caught this unaware, because he definitely didn’t peg Elizabeth as having someone.</p><p>(Definitely was hoping he could be that someone one day.)</p><p>Which was <em> something </em>considering Rio prided himself on being able to read people and figure out all of their life-story, their secrets.  </p><p>But that was before Elizabeth Marks-Boland apparently.</p><p>“I don’t know where my phone is.”</p><p>Rio nods, willing her to take the damn papers so he can just get back to Mick’s and drink, especially when he clocks that guy looking at him with a little too much interest.</p><p>“Sorry, where’s my manners?  Name’s Stan,” the man says, extending his hand for a shake, and Rio eyes it for a minute before meeting him halfway, squeezing his hand extra hard just because he can.</p><p>“Rio.”</p><p>And he can see the moment Stan realizes who he is, places him, because suddenly he’s grinning and shit he doesn’t think he would ever be that excited about meeting the person his girl was pretending to date for votes.</p><p>Or the person his girl had been five minutes away from fucking on a hotel loading dock.</p><p>Not that he’s probably aware of that second one judging by the flush blossoming on Elizabeth’s cheeks, a flash of pink that he bets isn’t just from the wine she’s been drinking.</p><p>“Oh man you’ve got to stay for a drink then because I know we’ve all been dying to meet you.”</p><p>Stepping forward, Rio quickly passes the papers to Elizabeth, pushing them against the wine glass hard enough that some of it sloshes over the edge, because really the last thing he wants to do is third-wheel whatever this thing is.</p><p>“Nah, I gotta -”</p><p>“No way, sorry, but my wife’s already mad that Annie’s met you and I don’t want to be on her bad side if she finds out I just let you leave,” Stan interjects, laughing. </p><p>Rio turns back to Elizabeth, raising his eyebrows as Stan’s words hit him.</p><p>“We’re just having drinks out back, you’re welcome to stay if you’re not busy,” Elizabeth says, meeting Rio’s gaze with those big blue eyes, wiped clean of any make-up, and Rio pauses for a second, unsure if she’s just being polite or if she wants him there when she adds softly, “please.”</p><p>And Rio nods, stepping slowly towards the door at the hint of pleading he can hear in her voice.</p><p>“Yeah I got some time.”</p><p>--</p><p>We, Rio discovers as soon as he walks out into Elizabeth’s backyard, turns out to be Stan and his wife Ruby, a woman who seems to cycle through about twenty different emotions when she notices him, Annie along with her girlfriend, Diane, a willowy brunette with a glitter barrette in her hair that matches the one in Annie’s, and a handful of kids running around.</p><p>Whatever conversation they’d been having immediately stops when he sits down in the only open chair, right next to Elizabeth, beer in hand, and Rio just runs his thumb through a drop of condensation that’s dripping down the side of his bottle, pretending to ignore the way Ruby’s looking at Elizabeth, the way Diane’s whispering something in Annie’s ear.</p><p>He’s just got to stay for the beer then he can dip, head back to Mick’s for wings and the rest of the Tigers game.  He can be polite for five minutes.</p><p>Probably. </p><p>It’s a nice night at least, one of those cool summer nights that make it seem like fall’s just around the corner. </p><p>Rolling his shoulders, he squints at the fire pit, distracting himself by trying to figure out the brand. He’d been thinking of getting one for the house, something for Marcus and him to sit round and roast marshmallows and shit, and this one at least seems - </p><p>“So are you here to admit I was right about your Instagram?”</p><p>Annie’s quip is enough to make Rio laugh, and he looks over at Elizabeth for a second after she takes a sharp inhale before turning to Annie and raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Just add it to the list with the rest of my great ideas,” Annie continues, smirking. </p><p>“Like the time you added five times the yeast to the bread recipe so it would rise faster and it exploded everywhere?” Diane asks before taking a sip of her wine.</p><p>Annie squawks, mumbling something that sounds like <em> traitor </em>, opening her mouth to defend herself when Stan cuts in. </p><p>“What about when you forgot your keys and had to spend the night in jail because you tried to break into your own car?”</p><p>“That was a misunderstanding-”</p><p>“Nothing tops those horses at the fundraiser,” Ruby mutters, making Rio smile when Elizabeth snorts into her glass as Annie swings around to glare at Ruby.</p><p>“Okay look how was I supposed to know that horses can’t really swim?” Annie huffs, waving her arms around.  “That pool was still way better than those stables.”</p><p>Stan laughs, dropping his empty bottle to the ground with a clatter to imitate what Rio figures is one of the horses, and it’s enough to make Elizabeth scrunch her nose and giggle, something soft, almost girlish.    </p><p>And Rio just blinks, watching the chaos unfold around him, and shit okay this was definitely more entertaining than watching baseball with Mick.</p><p>“Guess you picked the right sister for your campaign,” Diane says, winking at Rio before wrapping her arm around Annie.</p><p>Rio shrugs, glancing back over at Elizabeth who’s still laughing quietly to herself. It’s probably the most relaxed he’s ever seen her considering she’s got this habit of holding herself back, following some imaginary set of rules that only she knows so she can pretend to be all put together and respectable and shit.</p><p>“Depends if I win or not.”</p><p>“He’s going to win,” Elizabeth replies easily, rolling her eyes as she slips back into campaign mode.  “Johnson’s already falling in the polls.”</p><p>“Guess Turner ain’t that helpful,” Rio jokes, tapping his bottle against Elizabeth’s glass in a cheers, smile slipping off his face when Ruby gasps quietly and leans over to tell Stan something.</p><p>“Yeah I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Annie drawls, leaning back against Diane and tangling their fingers together.  “There’s a reason why Beth was always Gramps’ favorite and it’s not just because I popped out a kid at sixteen.”</p><p>“I’m not his -” Elizabeth starts, tapping her nails against her empty glass.</p><p>“Nope, not tonight,” Ruby interrupts.  “Find something that isn’t politics to talk about ‘cause I need a break.”</p><p>Rio chuckles, taking another swig of his beer, while Elizabeth narrows her eyes at Ruby, and fuck it’s nice to not be on the receiving end of that for once.  </p><p>But seriously he could use a break too.  Just fifteen minutes where he didn’t have to think about looming elections and polls and fake girlfriends.</p><p>He turns away from their standoff when his phone buzzes, rattling against the metal of his chair, and he has to shift to drag it out of his pocket, knocking into Elizabeth’s shoulder in the process which earns him a scoff.  </p><p>There’s a couple messages from Mick filling the screen, asking him to pick up some more food and Rio hesitates for a second, catching part of a story Stan’s telling about one of his kids before typing out a quick ‘<em> gonna be a minute’ </em>response. </p><p>And he must have missed something because all the sudden Elizabeth’s knee bumps into his and everyone’s staring at him. </p><p>“Sorry what?”</p><p>“You have a son right?” Ruby repeats, glancing over at Elizabeth briefly before adding.  “Marcus?”</p><p>Rio nods. </p><p>“Yeah, Marcus’ four.”  </p><p>“Cutest kid you’ve ever seen too, almost too cute,” Annie comments.  “Well I mean besides all of ours.”</p><p>His eyes flick out to the far end of the yard where the kids are playing with a soccer ball, kicking it back and forth.</p><p>“Now I know you’ve got pictures,” Stan says, holding out his hand, expectant, and Rio huffs out a breath, smiling as he swipes away a new message from Mick in favor of opening his camera app.</p><p>He doesn’t have that many pictures really so it’s not hard to find one of Marcus in his little league uniform, but just as he goes to pass his phone over Elizabeth plucks it from his hand.  </p><p>“Not that one,” she comments, scrolling back further, pausing on a shot of Marcus with his cousins before swiping past, and god he’s glad he doesn’t have any weird shit on there now.  </p><p>She finally stops on a picture of Marcus and Rio from the fundraiser at the park, both in matching t-shirts, grinning at the camera, and she hands it over to Stan, who whistles when he takes it in. </p><p>“Look at those dimples.”</p><p>He angles it so Ruby can see too, and she smiles at it, her face softening for the first time that night.  </p><p>“Wait, gimme!” Annie demands, reaching forward to grab the phone to show Diane.  “Can you believe that <em> someone </em> didn’t want to use this face for marketing purposes?”</p><p>Elizabeth groans at that, mumbling something about ethics, which just makes Annie roll her eyes and mutter something about getting votes, and that just sets Ruby off on how she said no work talk, but it all fades away when Rio hears Diane say, “Wait a second,” as she moves her fingers to zoom in on the picture.  </p><p>“I thought I knew you from somewhere,” she adds, passing him his phone back, and he rocks his jaw a little at her comment because he can’t place ever seeing her before tonight.  “You’re Rhea’s Christopher right?”</p><p>And it’s fucking amazing the power her name still has over him, how it always manages to worm its way under his skin and pull at each of his nerves until he’s left raw and ragged.  </p><p>He watches another thick drop of water roll down the side of his bottle, dropping unceremoniously on the top of his converse before clearing his throat, aware that everyone else has quieted as they wait for his response, and nodding.</p><p>“She used to have a picture of the three of you on her desk at work,” Diane hums and her face seem to fall a little at the thought.  “We were all sorry about what happened.”</p><p>Rio shrugs, and he’s sure she means it, but it doesn’t do shit for him.  </p><p>It never has. </p><p>But he’s saved from whatever else Diane was going to say, whatever anyone else was going to ask when one of the kids kicks the ball a little too hard, whacking Stan on the back.</p><p>“Oh it’s like that huh?” Stan murmurs, shaking his head, jogging out into the yard and scooping up a little boy who can’t stop giggling while Annie yells <em> ‘fight’</em>.</p><p>And it’s probably a shitty thing to do, but it doesn’t stop Rio from using the distraction to slip out the side gate, too itchy, too tired to stay any longer.  </p><p>--</p><p>“Took you long enough,” Mick grunts over the sound of the tv when Rio wanders back in and drops heavily onto the other recliner, arching his eyebrow at the slight hiss of metal on metal.  “You didn’t bring back any chips?”</p><p>--</p><p>The doorbell rings just as he finishes tucking a freshly bathed Marcus into bed.</p><p>“Why don’t you find where we left off, yeah?” Rio asks, ruffling his son’s damp hair and passing over the copy of <em> The Mouse and the Motorcycle</em><em>.</em>  “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Marcus nods, opening the book carefully to where an old bookmark rested, smiling as his fingers trace an illustration. </p><p>Stretching a little to get the ache out of his back, Rio heads downstairs to let Elizabeth in, barely hiding his groan when he catches sight of the three massive tote bags weighing her down through the peep-hole.</p><p>Great.</p><p>“You movin’ in or somethin’?” </p><p>Elizabeth rolls her eyes, adjusting her grip on one of the bags before breezing past him to set everything down on the mostly clean dining room table, pushing aside a couple pieces of mail to set up her laptop. </p><p>“Glad to see you’re still taking this seriously.”</p><p>Rio smirks, turning the door lock and starting over to the table to see what else she’s got hiding in those bags when a thud from upstairs makes him stop.  </p><p>“Just gonna -” he says, gesturing towards the stairs and Elizabeth just waves him off, already lost in some kind of spreadsheet, oblivious to him disappearing to finish tucking in Marcus.</p><p>It takes him almost thirty minutes to finally get back down to the dining room, ready to talk through whatever speech or issue was on Elizabeth’s to-do list tonight, only when he rounds the corner the room’s empty save the laptop still perched on the table, screen black, and a dented metal water bottle sitting next to it.</p><p>And Rio just pauses, hand resting on the end of the bannister, looking around the open space of his home for somewhere Elizabeth could have gone.  </p><p>It wouldn’t be the first time that she left something behind.  He was always finding something after their sessions, usually those little black hair-ties she kept on her wrist or even her planner that one time, but he knew she was really fucking particular about that laptop and it wasn’t likely something she’d forget.  </p><p>Sighing, he turns to head out back to see if maybe she’s on a call when he catches a sliver of light on the stairs, seemingly coming from his bedroom.</p><p>A light he’d definitely turned off earlier after he changed from work. </p><p>Neat.</p><p>--</p><p>There’s a pile of clothes on his bed when he walks in, stacks of his shirts and jeans and hoodies, and he rocks his jaw a little when he notices his favorite tee crumbled on the floor near some hangers, the one he picked up a couple years back when he visited his cousin out in California.  </p><p>He can hear Elizabeth puttering around in his closet, moving things around, dropping something else, and he picks up the shirt, hiding it under a pillow before heading over and leaning against the door jamb to watch her.  </p><p>She’s got her back to him as she pulls out one of his denim jackets to look at so she hasn’t realized he’s there yet, which isn’t that odd anyway given she’s somehow both the most <em> and </em> least observant person he’s ever met.</p><p>And he should probably announce himself, clear his throat or cough, but he feels almost frozen in the moment, seeing Elizabeth in this place that is so resoundingly his, completely at ease with herself.</p><p>The jacket must meet her approval because she hangs it back up before stepping towards his dresser and running her fingertips over the little dish he keeps his random rings and chains in, lingering briefly over one specific piece he hasn’t worn in years.  </p><p>“Hey now.”</p><p>Elizabeth gasps, almost knocking over the dish as she spins to glare at him in the doorway.</p><p>“You make a wrong turn somewhere?” Rio adds.</p><p>“No,” Elizabeth says quickly, cheeks all pink at being caught, and he smirks, watching her fidget for a second before she squares her shoulders.  “We need to talk about your clothes.”</p><p>“My clothes?” Rio huffs, furrowing his brows.</p><p>“You’ve worn the same suit to the last four events,” she continues, sliding open one of his dresser drawers to glance over the folded sweaters and beanies before pushing it shut. </p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So the rest of the time you look like a college student late for class.”</p><p>Rio bristles, and really it’s not like she had a lot of room to talk when she’s wearing the fugliest floral shirt he’s ever seen.  At least his stuff was comfortable and looked good, despite what she said.</p><p>Crossing his arms, he clocks one of her totes sitting by the door and he can see now that it’s full of striped shirts and ties, all with their price tags still on, and he opens his mouth, ready to push back when Elizabeth arches her eyebrow at him, stopping him.   </p><p>Because they’ve been here before.  </p><p>Shit most of their meetings involve them disagreeing about something.  They’d even spent a good hour the other week debating fucking fonts for some new posters, something he doesn’t think either of them really had a strong opinion about except needing to be right.  </p><p>But if there’s one thing Rio’s picked up on it’s that in the end Elizabeth will do what she wants no matter what he says.  </p><p>So he can either pick the fight and delay the inevitable or let her pretend to be the guy from that one show Mick loves, the one who always gives people french tucks and shit.  </p><p>(And it’s not like he can’t always sneak his clothes out of the donation bags later after she’s gone anyway.) </p><p>“Oh you gonna make me over then, darlin’?” he drawls, smiling when Elizabeth blinks slowly, clearly surprised by his response.</p><p>“More like clean up all your rough edges,” she replies, and he can hear the hint of skepticism in her voice, like she knows that was too easy a victory for her.  </p><p>Rio rolls his eyes, crouching down to dig through her bag, picking up one of the shirts to inspect.  It’s not that bad, not great though.  The collar’s definitely too wide and the fabric feels too plastic-y, but he doesn’t mind the navy color of it (or how it reminds him of that dress Elizabeth wore the night they met).  </p><p>He shakes out the shirt carefully, trying to find the label when a squeak and the sound of a drawer slamming shut makes him pause and look over at Elizabeth, who’s actively avoiding meeting his eyes.</p><p>“You good?”</p><p>She nods, and Rio hums, glancing back at where her hand is still pressed against the wood, realizing what drawer she’d opened and grinning.</p><p>“You know all you gotta do is ask if you’re so curious.”</p><p>“Trust me I’m not -" Elizabeth scoffs, breaking off when he laughs, spinning to start going through his hoodies instead, only she pulls too hard on one of them, making a couple fall off the shelf onto her.</p><p>Rio sighs, moving to pick up the sweatshirts, tossing them to the side so he could fold them later.</p><p>“Messin’ up all my organization.”</p><p>Elizabeth blinks, smiling softly as she straightens her shirt from where it’d bunched up, and Rio smiles back when he notices how her hair’s all tangled now.</p><p>Then before he can stop himself he reaches up to brush a couple stray pieces out of her face, tucking them behind her ear.  </p><p>“Thanks,” she whispers, and this close he can smell the hints of vanilla in her perfume, the sweetness of it where he’d expected something more earthy, more floral like everything else about her. </p><p>“That’s what partners are for, yeah?”</p><p>And that makes her finally meet his eyes as her hand slowly finds its way to his chest, pressing gently against his heart, then harder when he bridges the little distance between them and kisses her. </p><p>It’s soft, barely anything really, but he doesn’t want to push her, wants it to be her choice how far this goes even as every part of him wants to pull her in deeper, closer. </p><p>She breaks away with a ragged gasp, swaying slightly when he leans back before twisting her fingers in his shirt and surging back up into him.  </p><p>Then it’s anything but soft.</p><p>They stumble backwards, knocking into the dresser, and he can hear something fall, crack against the wood, but whatever it is doesn’t matter when her hand slides down to his waist, dips under his tank to tug him in tighter against her.</p><p>And it finally makes sense why Elizabeth always favored the cold because pressed against her now, his arms solid around her, he feels overwhelmed by the sheer heat of her, consumed by the burn of her skin on his and the fire that’s kindling between them the longer they kiss, and it makes him sink into her more, surrender himself fully to the blaze.</p><p>He pulls back slowly, trailing his lips down her jaw to the crook of her neck, nipping the pale skin when he feels her fingers trace the far edge of his tattoo, following the inked lines and curves.</p><p>“Miss Beth?”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Elizabeth jumps back instantly, dragging her nails a little too hard against his skin in her haste to put some distance between them, to extinguish whatever they’d built, and she takes a slow unsteady breath before she finally bends to smile at his son, lips bruised and too fucking pink.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be asleep sweetheart?”</p><p>“There was a loud noise,” Marcus mumbles, padding over to bury his face in Elizabeth’s side, and Rio sighs, looking over at the now shattered pieces of ceramic on his dresser, the ashes of their intimacy. </p><p>“I bet that was scary,” she replies, rubbing her hand along his back, glancing over at Rio, eyes huge and black, just a sliver of blue around the edges.   </p><p>Marcus nods, pressing further into Elizabeth which makes her laugh.</p><p>“A’ight,” Rio says, rolling his shoulders to help ground himself, get rid of those embers still flickering in his chest, “let’s get you back to bed.”</p><p>“No!” Marcus cries, pouting when Rio steps closer, clinging tighter to Elizabeth’s leg.  “I want Miss Beth.”</p><p>“Oh you do?” she asks, tickling Marcus’ side until he giggles and wiggles away enough to tug on her hand to pull her out of the closet.  Elizabeth groans dramatically, making Marcus giggle even more as she pauses in the doorway, fighting his demanding pulls to meet Rio’s eyes, to make sure he’s okay with this, and when he nods she mouths a quick <em> ‘I’ll be right back’ </em>before disappearing.</p><p>And Rio waits, waits until the sound of their footsteps fade away, until all that’s keeping him company is the faint rumbles of their voices through the wall to pick up that stupid blue shirt again and hang it up with the rest of his clothes. </p><p>--</p><p>He’s in the middle of sifting through the mess on his bed when Elizabeth wanders back in, hovering close to the door like she’s not sure she wants to be there, watching him as he smooths out the wrinkles on an old tee.</p><p>“Pop go down okay?”</p><p>Elizabeth nods, stepping slowly towards the bed and picking up a shirt to fold.  She’s pulled her hair up while she was gone and between the handful of fallen curls he can just make out a small bruise forming on her neck.</p><p>He wonders if she can see the mark she’d left on him, the streak of bright red skin near the inked talon on his throat, like it’d caught some kind of prey in its grasp.</p><p>And maybe it had, maybe <em> she </em>had.</p><p>“We read another chapter in his book,” she replies with a chuckle.  “But he said you can read it later so you’re not confused.”</p><p>Rio snorts, tossing aside a tee with his college logo printed across the front and bleach stains along the collar.  </p><p>“Yeah, think I’ll be okay.”</p><p>“I don’t know, it’s pretty complicated stuff,” Elizabeth teases, smiling softly as she folds a pair of jeans, and if he wasn’t watching her so closely he’d probably miss how fucking stiff she is, how she keeps fidgeting and picking at loose threads and shit on his clothes.  </p><p>Not that he imagines he’s any less awkward.</p><p>Shit he feels like he’s back in school trying to shoot his shot with that hot upperclassman Vanessa when he was just some scrawny virgin, acting all cool when he’s really got no fucking clue what to do.</p><p>(Although he knows what he wants to do and it’s why he’d started cleaning off his bed in the first place.)</p><p>It’s quiet then as they both pack away the clothes Rio’s willing to actually part with and he’s just finished tying one of the donation bags when Elizabeth breaks the silence. </p><p>“We all missed you the other night.”</p><p>Rio rolls his shoulders, picking up the bag to put over near the door before leaning against the wall, watching Elizabeth run her fingers along the spine of a book on his nightstand.</p><p>“Yeah sorry ‘bout that.”</p><p>“I just hope it wasn’t because of anything we said.”</p><p>“Nah, I just had to get back.  Gettin’ late and all.”</p><p>Elizabeth nods, chewing on her bottom lip as she glances around the room, pausing on the closet before settling on him again.</p><p>“You never talk about her.”</p><p>And Rio doesn’t even need to ask who, knows it’s, <em> she’s, </em> probably been on her mind ever since that night and that her curiosity was probably only piqued more by the photo on Marcus’ windowsill, the only one in the house, the one that’s angled just enough that Rio doesn’t have to look at it when he’s in there.  </p><p>Honestly he’s kind of surprised it’s taken her this long to ask about Rhea, about that part of his life considering how much about him she does know.</p><p>“Not much to talk about,” he replies with a shrug, and she smiles weakly, looking away from him to play with a ring on her right hand, opening and closing her mouth a couple times before finally speaking.</p><p>“You know when Dean died I remember spending an entire week packing up all his stuff and taking down all the family pictures,” Elizabeth says, voice small.  “It was - well, before he got sick, we were about to file for divorce so he could marry his intern, but then life happened and instead I had to play the doting wife again.”</p><p>She pauses then, closing her eyes for a second, lost in a memory.</p><p>“And every single day I would see something of his - his cufflinks, his face in a picture, and be reminded of everything he’d done to me, to us.  But then when it was all gone - the clothes, the photos, everything, I didn’t feel any better.” </p><p>The words hang heavy around them and Rio exhales sharply, trying to cut through some of the weight of them bearing down on him before Elizabeth adds.</p><p>“I think sometimes we try to hide away the things that remind us of the past to protect ourselves from all the pain.  But pain isn’t always bad.”</p><p>“Yeah, but see it ain’t about not rememberin’ what she did to me," Rio replies.  "It’s about what I did to her.  She’s dead because of me and I gotta live with that.”</p><p>And shit it's been years, but he can still picture that night like it was yesterday, relive it as if it had just happened.  </p><p>The rain that seemed like it was never going to end, the argument they’d been having over a job offer he’d gotten, how he’d snapped and said things about their future, how Rhea had left to go for a walk to clear her head...</p><p>How she never came back.</p><p>The cop showing up on his doorstep hours later, apologizing for coming by so late before asking him to come downtown with him.</p><p>The smell of disinfectant and stale coffee in that hospital.  </p><p>The flecks of blood so bright against the gold of Rhea’s wedding band when the doctor passed it over.</p><p>And now because he couldn’t act like a damn man for one night, one conversation, his son had to grow up without a mother, had to live a life where the only way he knows her is through old photographs and home videos.</p><p>So yeah maybe he tries to hide it, her, away, overcompensates for that one night with everything else he’s done since, but it was the only way he could survive, the only way he didn’t go to sleep every night wishing it was him and not her.</p><p>“Diane told me what happened,” Elizabeth says, walking over to stand in front of him, resting her hand on his forearm, branding his skin with her touch.  “It sounded like an accident.  A drunk driver who never should have been out.”</p><p>Rio sighs.</p><p>“He’s not the only one who shouldn’t have been out.”</p><p>“But you can’t change that now,” Elizabeth whispers, “and you can’t punish yourself forever.  Rhea knew that you’re a good man, just like I do now.  You need to believe that too.”</p><p>She lifts her hand to cradle his jaw and rub her thumb through his stubble, lips twitching when she sees the mark on his neck.</p><p>“We should get back to work.”</p><p>Rio hums, letting her step away and head back downstairs, and he hesitates for a moment, eyes finding the box of Rhea’s things he keeps tucked away in his closet before following her, flicking off the lights and enveloping the room in darkness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(This chapter includes a scene in which Rio mentions that he is "responsible" for Rhea's death.  The two had an argument and Rhea left to clear her head, later Rio finds out that Rhea was hit by a drunk driver while walking and died.)</p><p>A million and one thank you's to fortunehasgivenup who not only beta'd this chapter, but has just been a great friend and sounding-board when I bounced around ideas for this chapter/fic.  </p><p>And thank you to everyone for reading, leaving kudos, or commenting - I really appreciate you all and I'm sorry for the slight delay in chapters!  I hope this was worth the wait and that you'll be happy to see that there's still another chapter coming!  </p><p>Until next chapter - stay safe out there and don't forget to register to vote!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So then, get this, we end up in the hot tub and it turns out she’s got this tattoo, some kind of parrot or parakeet or some shit -” </p><p>“Are you serious right now?”</p><p>“What like you got the market cornered on stupid bird tattoos?” Mick grunts, rolling his eyes as he tosses a baseball back and forth in his hands.  “Anyway then she’s all ‘oh hey we should invite my boyfriend Max to join us’ and I was like -”</p><p>Rio groans, reaching out to grab the ball from Mick and throw it out onto the field behind them.  </p><p>“You do realize we’re at a fucking Little League game right now?” </p><p>Mick scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, straining the leather in his old jacket, and Rio knows they’re a little ways from anyone else, but after Elizabeth had heard about the tournament, something the youth center did every fall, she’d insisted on inviting the press, claiming a picture of him handing out trophies would be the perfect thing for the campaign.</p><p>So the last thing he needs now is one of those reporters overhearing anything about Mick’s little hot tub party and running with it. </p><p>“You’re the one who asked about my night.  I didn’t even get to tell you about the thing she can do with her -”</p><p>“Yeah, well I really regret that now, okay?” Rio scoffs, and shit he’s gotta remember to not let Marcus anywhere near that thing the next time Mick has them over.  “Wait did you say Lucy?  Elizabeth’s Lucy?” </p><p>Mick nods, chuckling as he leans over to clap Rio on the arm.</p><p>“It’s always the quiet ones, brother.”</p><p>And Mick’s lucky that those stupid reporters are lurking across the field because they’re all that’s stopping Rio from smacking him, wiping that smart-ass smirk from his face, especially when he winks at the end.</p><p>(Although now that Rio thinks about it that’s probably the only reason he’s playing it up so much anyway.) </p><p>So he just grinds his teeth, rocks his jaw a little bit as he shakes his head and turns to look out over the field where the kids were warming up - besides he could be patient, he could wait to get Mick back until he wasn’t expecting it, the element of surprise and all that.</p><p>There’s a bit of a crowd now that the game’s getting close, but it’s easy enough to spot Marcus out in the backfield in his bright red shirt, helping JT lead the team in their stretches, bending carefully to touch his toes and losing his hat in the process.</p><p>“How long’s this thing gonna last anyway?”</p><p>“What you got big plans or somethin’ with your new girlfriend?” Rio asks, dragging his phone out of his pocket to take a video to send his ma. She’d been on him for not visiting lately and this could buy him another couple of days grace at least, hopefully.  </p><p>Probably. </p><p>Mick mumbles something behind him, and Rio just rolls his eyes when he catches the words farmers market and artisanal, not bothering to acknowledge Mick’s whining as he tries to zoom in on Marcus, center him on his phone’s screen.  </p><p>He should really move closer so it’s not as grainy or blurry, but there was a reason why he and Mick were hanging out back behind the dug-out in the first place, and he’s not exactly eager to get mobbed by those crazy sports moms or the reporters asking about Johnson’s latest ad against him claiming he was soft on crime.</p><p>But then Marcus starts doing those shoulder circle things and shit Rio’s not made of stone, even he can admit it’s pretty cute and it’s worth risking people spotting him to get a shot of that.</p><p>He straightens his hat, pulling the brim down enough to hide most of his face, but when he steps past the chain link fence he realizes he’s not the only one with this idea, because there’s Elizabeth across the field, phone in hand as she smiles down at Marcus.</p><p>And it’s almost too jarring, too much after everything that happened last night.  </p><p>They’d gone back downstairs to go over the schedule, both a little quiet, a little on edge after that kiss, after their confessions, and they’d never really overcome it, not when it felt like there were suddenly two more people at the table.</p><p>She’d left pretty soon after that, and Rio’d stood on his front porch, watching as her tail lights faded in the distance, trying to forget how unsure she’d seemed sitting next to him, tentative in a way he’d never seen her before.</p><p>So it’s a little rough to see her now, so happy, laughing that soft giggle she so rarely lets slip out. </p><p>Elizabeth must get the shot though because she leans back, glancing at the phone, tapping out something before looking up at the field and bringing her hand up to block the sun, that smile disappearing when she sees him.</p><p>His phone buzzes twice in his hand and he doesn’t have to look to know that it’s from her, but he still does, can’t help himself when he sees the little preview pictures and then before he can do anything else she’s there, standing next to him.   </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“Yo,” Rio breathes, shifting back on his heels, putting some distance between them.  </p><p>“So I was thinking,” she starts cautiously, her eyes briefly moving over his shoulder to where he knows Mick is standing, watching them, “maybe it would be a good idea for you to throw out the first pitch too.” </p><p>Rio hums, and in the light, still so close to her all he can see is the mark he left on her neck, the blemish on her pale skin that meant she was his for a second.  </p><p>“Well he’s got lots of experience strikin’ out,'' Mick says behind him.  “Don’t ya slugger?”</p><p>And if it wasn’t already awkward as fuck, that’s enough to tip the scales and make her look back at him, meet his eyes with a question that Rio can’t quite make out before it’s gone in a flash as she clears her throat, lifting her hand to pull down her sunglasses. </p><p>“I’ll see you over at the mound then in a minute?” </p><p>Rio nods, watching her leave for a beat until Mick starts laughing. </p><p>“Guess I don’t gotta ask about your night.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>Mick arches a brow, lifting his chin at Rio’s neck and the scratch that Elizabeth had left, the little half-moon indents from her nails he’d only noticed this morning in his bathroom mirror.</p><p>“What you couldn’t find an intern to fuck?”</p><p>“Man, shut up,” Rio mutters.  </p><p>“I mean I knew you were followin’ your dick, but I just didn’t realize -”</p><p>“It was a mistake,” Rio snaps, biting the inside of his cheek when he clocks Elizabeth looking back at him as she talks to JT across the field.  “Nothin’ happened and nothin’ is gonna happen, yeah?”  </p><p>That much was clear now, she didn’t want him anymore, and he wasn’t going to push her into something she obviously wasn’t into, he wasn’t that much of a douche.  He could keep it in his pants and be a fucking professional.</p><p>This was just how it was going to be now. </p><p>“If you want,” Mick starts, face serious, “I can ask Lucy and Max if they’re free tonight?”</p><p>And that at least makes Rio laugh, smile as he shakes his head and bends down to pick up a ball, idea already forming in his head, payback taking shape.</p><p>“Think I’m good,” he says, gripping the seams tighter in his hand.  “Wanna help me out with that pitch though?” </p><p>--</p><p>“Delete it.”</p><p>“Nah,” Rio scoffs, hitting play on the video again, watching the ball sail over home plate and knock Mick off balance enough to fall backwards onto his ass.  JT had sent it over during the second inning and Rio had already forwarded it to all of Mick’s sisters.    </p><p>Mick narrows his eyes, reaching over the table to grab the phone only to groan when Rio lifts his hand up higher, too high for Mick to reach.  </p><p>“I won’t forget this, asshole.” </p><p>--</p><p>The rest of September passes in a blur.  It’s like Rio blinks and suddenly it’s October and there’s only three weeks until the election.</p><p>Until the whole thing is just over.  </p><p>And if he’s being honest he’s ready for it to be done. </p><p>All the ass-kissing and interviews and whatever other shit was always on Elizabeth’s massive to-do list.</p><p>Not that it will ever really end, he knows.</p><p>This is just the tip of the iceberg, the calm before the storm.</p><p>But at least if he wins he’ll be able to <em> finally </em> get his hands dirty and get down in the dirt to deliver on all the things he’s been talking about and promising people, promising himself.  </p><p>So all he’s got to do is hold on, just for a couple more weeks even if Elizabeth’s newest spreadsheet makes him want to - </p><p>“Hey boss?”</p><p>Rio glances up from his computer, nodding at JT when he steps cautiously into the office.</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>“Well,” JT starts, clearing his throat, “there’s someone here asking to meet with you.”</p><p>“I don’t have anything scheduled,” Rio replies, minimizing the spreadsheet on his screen to pull up his calendar to double check, and shit he didn’t even really have the time to talk to whoever this was anyway.  </p><p>“Yeah about that -”</p><p>“Sorry, I probably should have called first, huh?”</p><p>And that voice makes Rio straighten in his chair as he watches Turner slide past JT to make his way into the office, smile on his face.</p><p>“I’m just gonna go now,” JT mumbles, backing away slowly, mouthing something Rio can’t make out before closing the door, leaving them alone.</p><p>“He seems nice,” Turner says, unbuttoning his suit jacket to settle into one of the chairs across from Rio’s desk like they’re old friends or some shit.</p><p>Honestly, it’s fucking psychotic or sociopathic or whatever.  </p><p>“So you get lost or somethin’?” Rio drawls, rolling his shoulders against the knot that’s springing up in his back, like his body’s rebelling against the idea of having to actually talk to this dick.  </p><p>“To the point as always,” Turner laughs.  “You know I always liked that about you.”</p><p>And Rio just scoffs at that, and really for someone who made a career in politics he’d have thought Turner would be better at lying.</p><p>It’d actually been a few weeks since he’d seen Turner last.  </p><p>With the end so close he’d seemingly been busy with his own client, skipping his usual routine of lurking at Rio’s events to instead organize ones for Johnson that were basically just a bunch of middle-aged white men in suits talking about how they could help themselves, and Rio’d been hoping that maybe they wouldn’t have to cross paths again.</p><p>But he’s apparently not that lucky.</p><p>“Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were holding up,” Turner continues.</p><p>Rio nods, leaning back in his chair.</p><p>“Doin’ great now that I actually got a competent campaign manager.”</p><p>It’s petty, Rio knows, not even close to his best insult if he’s honest, but it’s still worth it to see that grin slip off Turner's face for a second or two before he slides his mask back on, trying to look unaffected, like he didn’t just lose this round.</p><p>“Well Beth always did have a head for these kinds of things,” Turner replies slowly, carefully, before pausing, “oh wait, I’m sorry <em> Elizabeth.” </em></p><p>And it sounds all wrong in Turner’s mouth, her name.  Either one.  </p><p>There’s no weight to it, no respect, nothing that speaks to how important she is, how fucking good she is at everything.</p><p>It’s like they aren’t even talking about the same person.  </p><p>“Yeah, I mean the numbers don’t lie,” Rio says finally, defending Elizabeth the only way it would matter to Turner. </p><p>Because against all the odds, somehow, he was tied with Johnson, not winning, but not trailing anymore, and he was man enough to admit that most of that credit went to Elizabeth and her insane binders.</p><p>(He was only so naturally charming.)</p><p>It’s a big deal, which is why it’s weird that Turner just shrugs. </p><p>“I think we both know that those polls aren’t always the best predictors of what actually happens on election day.”</p><p>“Is that right?” Rio mutters.</p><p>“It’s one thing to answer some survey question,” Turner says, reaching forward to grab one of the stress balls Rio keeps on his desk, lightly squeezing it, “but to actually show up to the polls?  Especially those first time voters you’ve been courting?  Well those are two very different things.” </p><p>And Rio can feel that knot in his back tighten, pulse at the truth in Turner’s words, giving power to those fears that live in the dark corners of his head.</p><p>The ending to all this that he wants to avoid.</p><p>Failing. </p><p>And he must take too long to respond, too lost in what he doesn’t want, because Turner hums all cocky like, proud that his punch was the KO in this fight as he stands, tossing the stress ball on the chair before moving to the doorway. </p><p>“Anyway good luck out there,” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at Rio. “May the best man win, huh?”</p><p>Then he’s gone, leaving Rio alone to pick himself up off the ground and nurse his new wounds.</p><p>--</p><p>“And guess what else this asshole said?”</p><p>Mick grunts, squinting at his computer screen as he types something.</p><p>“You know I stopped listenin’ like ten minutes ago right?”</p><p>“Thanks man,” Rio huffs, flopping back in the soft armchair Mick keeps in the corner of his office, wincing when his elbow smacks the file cabinet on accident.</p><p>“Anytime,” Mick says.  “Now you gonna get me that budget memo the board’s been askin’ about or you just gonna complain some more?”</p><p>--</p><p>“That guy is such a weasel.”</p><p>“Babe,” Diane sighs, shaking her head as she slides the new tray of lemon blueberry cupcakes into the display case, “I’m sure he’s not like that bad.”</p><p>Annie scoffs, groaning when Diane squeezes her knee as she passes.</p><p>“Nah, he’s pretty bad,” Rio says, biting back his smile when he hears Elizabeth’s snort from her spot across the table, head buried in one of those fucking massive binders.</p><p>And if it was before - before their kiss, before his Rhea revelation, just before - he wouldn’t hesitate to crack a joke about her single-handedly keeping that office supply place up the street in business, maybe throw in a wink to see if she’d blush that fucking blush that he’d loves watching bloom across her cheeks.</p><p>But it wasn’t.  </p><p>Shit that was the whole reason they were holding their bi-weekly strategy and prep sessions at her store now, keeping everything public and cordial so there were no mixed signals.  </p><p>At least that’s what he assumed, not that she’d ever come out and said shit about anything.  </p><p>He could see how awkward it was when they kept trying to do this at his place though, acting like nothing happened, and how relieved she’d been when he suggested doing it at her store instead. </p><p> “Hey,” Annie says, jumping down from her place on the counter to join them at their table, jostling his coffee cup when her knee hits the wood as she falls into the extra seat, “remember the time when he showed up at that luncheon and … ow!”</p><p>The table thumps again, and he barely manages to grab his cup before the whole thing tips over because he’s not about to deal with Elizabeth pitching a fit if her precious charts get wet.</p><p>“What is your damage?”</p><p>“Don’t you have to finish up that order for tonight?” Elizabeth asks, nodding at the back room.</p><p>“Real subtle,” Annie mutters, pushing back her chair and knocking into the table fucking <em> again, </em>“I was just going to say you dodge a real bullet there but I guess I’ll take my leave then, boss’ orders.”</p><p>And she bows then, all fucking dramatic like she’s been watching too much television and shit and it’s a minor miracle Elizabeth doesn’t reach over and smack her.</p><p>(It’s a minor miracle he doesn’t when she reaches over and swipes one of the cookies he’d been saving before disappearing.)</p><p>“So about the spreadsheet I emailed you earlier,” Elizabeth starts, clearing her throat.</p><p>Rio nods, flexing his hand against his thigh when he clocks how tight her voice sounds, how her shoulders seem slumped.</p><p>“Yeah, I was -” he replies, trying to meet her eyes when there’s a crash, something falling, and he just hopes for Annie’s sake that it isn’t the cake Elizabeth has been working on for the last week.</p><p>“I’ll uh go make sure everything’s okay,” Diane comments, clearly reading the weird vibe in the room and using this as her chance to escape.</p><p>Elizabeth exhales, fluttering her little wispy bangs off her forehead as she scribbles something else down, and Rio rolls his shoulders, watching.</p><p>And shit he really thought it would get easier the more time that went on.  </p><p>Whatever this thing was going on with them, whatever it almost was.</p><p>But it’s been months and nothing’s changed, not for him at least.  He still feels just as consumed by her, thinking about her like he was a fucking teenage girl with a crush.</p><p>And how many ghosts can he carry around with him?  How many what-ifs can he let keep him up at night?  </p><p>How many times can this happen until he realizes that he’s the problem?</p><p>(How many times can he torture himself thinking about how she felt under his hands?  How she tasted?)</p><p>“Hey,” he drawls, not even trying to stop himself from reaching over and resting his hand on hers when she starts striking out huge blocks of text, “you sure you doin’ okay?”</p><p>Elizabeth blinks up at him then, all fucking wide eyes and too pink lips that part when his thumb brushes along her wrist.</p><p>“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>It’s a lie, they both know it too based on how quickly she looks back down at her binder and slides her hand out from his.  </p><p>“A’ight,” Rio mutters, taking a drink of his cappuccino.  “So that spreadsheet.”</p><p>Elizabeth smiles, pushing over a color-coded print-out just as her phone vibrates on the table.  </p><p>“Sorry,” she breathes, lifting a couple papers and pens until she finally finds the phone and can read whatever message she got.  “Actually do you mind if we took a quick break?”</p><p>She’s already out of her chair before Rio can reply, shuffling the papers into piles, and Rio just hums, wincing when she snatches the spreadsheet out of his hand.  </p><p>“I’ll be right back,” she adds, pausing by his chair at the last second, and he’s about to ask what she’s doing when she gently squeezes his shoulder before she’s gone in a mess of papers and binders, almost running straight into Diane in her rush to get away.</p><p>“What’s that about?” </p><p>Rio shrugs, bringing over his now empty mug to set on the counter.</p><p>“Your guess is as good as mine.”</p><p>Diane laughs, and Rio smiles back, pulling out his own phone to check the time.  He should probably get back to work really, but he could still stick around for a bit in case Elizabeth was really just taking a short break.</p><p>So he pulls up his emails, clicking into the one from Mick lecturing him about that stupid budget memo when he hears the bell on the front door chime, the squeak of shoes on tile.</p><p>“Rio!”</p><p>“‘Ey, shouldn’t you be in school?” Rio asks, raising his eyebrows when Kenny slumps down at the counter next to him. </p><p>“Today was my day with Grandpa,” Kenny sighs, already looking away to pout at Diane.  “Can I have a cupcake?”</p><p>Grandpa?</p><p>And Rio barely has the time to process what that even means when the answer walks in.</p><p>“Kenneth you forgot your hat.”</p><p>“Oh,” Kenny mumbles, mouth full of cupcake already.  “Thanks.”</p><p>The man chuckles, dropping the Tigers cap on the counter next to Kenny before turning and eyeing Rio, clocking how close he is to Kenny and then the tattoo on his neck, and Rio stands straighter, trying to seem less threatening. </p><p>“George Marks,” the man says, holding out his hand. </p><p>And he looks just like Rio’d imagined. Tall, medium build, thinning grey hair - almost identical to every other politician he’s met this last year.  Cut from the same fucking white-bread mold. </p><p>The only thing that really sets him apart is the eyes, the same clear blue that he sees every time he looks at Elizabeth. </p><p>“Christopher Ramirez,” Rio replies, slipping into his respectable campaign persona before meeting him halfway for the handshake. </p><p>“Oh!” George smiles, clearly surprised Rio was actually a respectable member of the community.  “You’re the man Elizabeth’s helping with his campaign.”</p><p>“That’s right, sir,” Rio nods, and god he hates himself a little for this, but it’s all part of the act, part of all the hoops he has to jump through constantly to prove he belongs in this world.  </p><p>(Plus the last thing he needs right now is to piss off the former governor for being disrespectful, not this close to the election.) </p><p>“I’ve heard good things about you,” George adds.  “Sounds like you have quite the promising future.”</p><p>“Well we’ll see,” Rio says.</p><p>George hums, checking his watch, something massive that just screams old money, before reaching over to ruffle Kenny’s hair. </p><p>“I assume Elizabeth is busy?”</p><p>Rio clears his throat.</p><p>“She had to take a call.”</p><p>“Of course she did,” George huffs, almost expectant. “Is Mary-Anne also indisposed?”</p><p>“She’s finishing up an order,” Diane offers, carrying over a new tray of cookies, eyes wide when she takes in George.  “I can get her if you’d like?”</p><p>And it’s quiet for beat, just whatever music Annie picked playing in the background as they all watch each other.  </p><p>“No, that’s fine, I should be heading out anyway” George finally says, checking his watch again.  “It was nice to meet you Christopher, best of luck out there.  Don’t hesitate to let me know if I can help at all.”</p><p>He starts for the door then, stopping at the end of the display case to tap his fingers against the glass before looking back at them one last time to add.</p><p>“Lovely to see you again, Krystal.”</p><p>And Rio waits until the door shuts behind George to turn back to Diane.</p><p>“It’s a long story,” she murmurs, swiping her hands against her apron.  “I’m gonna go check on Annie.”</p><p>Then she’s gone too.</p><p>
  <em> Ok-ay. </em>
</p><p>“Rio?”</p><p>“What’s up, kid?” Rio mumbles, looking away from the back door to see Kenny, chocolate all around his mouth, considering him.  </p><p>“Can I have a cookie?”</p><p>--</p><p>“You wanna talk about it?”</p><p>He asks her later, after she’d finally reappeared, after she takes a seat at their table like nothing had happened, just after.  </p><p>Elizabeth sighs, swallows before glancing up at him, and he can just make out the little specks of black under her eyes that betray her even as she shakes her head. </p><p>-- </p><p>“- and with the top piece, carefully slide it through the basket you’ve already made.”</p><p>Rio exhales, squinting into the mirror as he tries again to get this fucking tie knotted, fingers following along to the video’s instructions.  </p><p>And after so many of these fucking events, he should be able to do this in his sleep.</p><p>He pulls the fabric through the “basket”, groaning when the top piece comes up short and shit it shouldn’t be this hard.</p><p>Maybe he should just buy a couple clip-ons and call it a day?</p><p>He’s already late.</p><p>Elizabeth’s schedule had very clearly marked his suggested arrival time as 7:45 and it was already pushing 7:30 and he still needed to drop Marcus at his parents.</p><p>At least tonight’s fundraiser wasn’t for him, just some silent auction thing Kenny’s private school was holding to raise money for a new tennis court or pool or whatever that Elizabeth insisted would still be a great opportunity for Rio to network.</p><p>He reaches out to start the video again, watching the person make baskets and loops and shit again, and he’s about to hit replay <em> again </em>, ready to follow along when he catches himself in the mirror, wrinkled tie in hand.  </p><p>Fuck it.</p><p>--</p><p>“Are you really not wearing a tie?”</p><p>“Shit I knew I forgot something,” Rio teases, clicking his tongue when Elizabeth rolls her eyes, unimpressed like he didn’t catch her checking out his tattoo earlier.</p><p>Because Elizabeth was great at a lot of things, but being subtle?  Yeah, that wasn’t one of them.</p><p>“I think he looks great,” Stan says, shaking the ice in his empty cup.  “Like a damn GQ model or somethin’.”</p><p>And that makes Rio grin.</p><p>Not that Stan’s wrong.</p><p>He looks good, always looks good, but tonight in his cobalt blue suit, navy dress shirt unbuttoned a little, full tattoo on display?  </p><p>Well there’s no real competition.</p><p>“Okay, calm down Stanley,” Ruby replies, holding up her hand when Stan opens his mouth, “and no, you have to keep wearing yours.”</p><p>“Wasn’t even gonna ask,” Stan mumbles, shaking his cup again, crunching the plastic in his hand before eventually nodding at the bar and wandering away, head down.</p><p>“Thanks for that,” Ruby sighs, voice tired but still fond, and Rio laughs, shifting to look over his shoulder, watching Stan almost knock into some overly botoxed housewife.  </p><p>And he must have been too loud or something because then she’s turning over to him, eyes wide when she clocks him, takes him in before waving, the massive diamond on her finger catching the light.  </p><p>Rio shakes his head, exhales before sliding on his best campaign smile, ready to be his most charming self for the sake of more bullshit networking when Elizabeth coughs, swaying into him enough that he almost spills his drink.</p><p>“You cool?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Elizabeth breathes, clearing her throat as she sways again, “new heels.”</p><p>Rio hums, letting his eyes drop down to check out her heels, and okay, maybe he wasn’t the only one with no competition tonight, not with Elizabeth in that burgundy dress that clings to all the right curves, all the <em> right </em> places, all tied up in a bow like a goddamn gift.</p><p>“Gotta be careful, darlin’”</p><p>Elizabeth nods, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and then there’s nothing hiding how low her dress dips.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>“Not to interrupt or anything,” Ruby says, raising her eyebrow when Rio glances back at her and rolls his shoulders,” but Beth, isn’t that John and Judith?”</p><p>Elizabeth gasps.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“Who’s John and Judith?” Rio asks, looking back at Ruby when Elizabeth starts digging through her purse for something.</p><p>“Dean’s parents,” Elizabeth mutters.  “They pay for Kenny’s tuition, but they were supposed to be out of town this week.”</p><p>She shifts her purse on the table, still looking for whatever, almost knocking over the ugly floral centerpiece, and Rio taps his fingers on his cup, unsure what he should be doing.</p><p>“Why don’t you go get us some refills?  Figure out where Stan got to?” Ruby suggests, looking at Rio, saving him as she slides Elizabeth’s purse over and magically pulls out a lipstick. </p><p>“A’ight then.”</p><p>So he backs away slowly, just in case Elizabeth wants to add anything, stop him, before finally heading to the bar, keeping to the outskirts of the room to avoid having to deal with anyone. </p><p>The room is still pretty crowded, everyone waiting for the silent auction to officially end before they can leave, and it takes him a second to find Stan tucked away in a corner, behind some greenery.  </p><p>It’s a good spot really, just out of sight and Rio smiles when he notices the plate of snacks next to him and hears Jim Nantz’ voice through his phone.</p><p>“What’s the score?”</p><p>“Down by three at the half,” Stan sighs, grabbing another crudite from his plate to chew on.  “All the money I pay this place and they still manage to schedule this stupid auction on the one night the Lions play the Packers.”</p><p>Rio laughs, craning his neck to watch the replay on Stan’s phone, wincing when he sees the quarterback get absolutely demolished by a linebacker.</p><p>“Shit, and they didn’t call that?”</p><p>“It’s the damn refs,” Stan replies, shaking his head, hitting rewind so they could watch it again, both groaning when the man lands heavy on the turf again.  </p><p>“Every game, man.”</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Stan mutters, starting to wipe his hand on his suit pants before thinking better of it and grabbing a napkin.  “So did Ruby or Beth send you over?”</p><p>Rio blinks.</p><p>“That obvious, huh?"</p><p>“Well this isn’t my first rodeo,” Stan says, shrugging.  “Surprised they let me go this long honestly.”</p><p>He crumples up his napkin and tosses it on the now empty plate, clicking off his phone, and Rio exhales, looking back over at their table, eyes finding Elizabeth before he can stop himself.  </p><p>She’s talking to an older couple, her former in-laws apparently, and even from this far away he can see how uncomfortable she is, how her smile looks forced.  </p><p>Only then she turns, looks away for just a second and sees him.  </p><p>Then her smile softens, relaxes until the woman, Judith, says something that makes her break away from him.   </p><p>“You know what’s interesting about that quarterback though?” </p><p>“What’s that?” Rio asks, thumb coming up to play with the band on his finger, the signet ring his grandfather had given him years ago before he passed.</p><p>“He played for another team for most of his career,” Stan says, moving to stand next to Rio.  “He’s used to playing behind a line that didn’t protect him and just let him get smacked around every week.  So now he’s not so quick to throw that perfect spiral down the field even when he’s got a player wide open ‘cause he’s got those bad memories that make him not wanna take the risk.”</p><p>And Rio furrows his brow, trying to figure out what Stan’s talking about because he’s pretty sure the Lions’ haven't had any trades lately.</p><p>But then it hits him.  </p><p>“Yeah, but what if that receiver’s fumbled a bit during the game too?”</p><p>(Fumbled, fouled, ran out of bounds.)</p><p>“Well they’ll end up missing it all if they don’t even try to make the connection,” Stan laughs.  “Especially when rumor has it that’s what the quarterback’s been telling his coach he wants.”</p><p>Rio hums, looking back over at their table where Elizabeth’s alone with Ruby again.</p><p>“So maybe that receiver just needs to remind him that he’s open.”</p><p>And shit, maybe Stan’s not wrong.</p><p>He starts back to her then, ready to run the right route, try again, before stopping after a couple steps to glance over at Stan.  </p><p>“Hey man, I usually watch the games with a couple of guys if you wanted to join us some time?”</p><p>“Just tell me when and I’ll bring some of my famous chili,” Stan replies, reaching out to clap Rio on the arm before nodding towards the table.</p><p>And he doesn’t need to tell Rio twice.</p><p>-- </p><p>He still ducks by the bar on his way back, grabbing a couple glasses of wine to help smooth things over before finally standing by Elizabeth’s side again, sliding over a pinot grigio that she accepts easily, quickly.</p><p>“Everything okay over here?”</p><p>Elizabeth nods, something shaky, unsteady, and Rio takes a breath, bracing himself as his hand slowly comes up and rests on the small of her back, pressing down on the soft fabric.</p><p>“That’s good.”</p><p>She jumps a little under his touch, unprepared, but she recovers quick, so quick, leaning back into him, angling herself so that his fingertips can curl around her hip.</p><p>At some point Ruby’s backed away, gone, so it’s just them.</p><p>Just them when he breaks free from coverage and leans down to whisper.</p><p>“Wanna get out of here?”</p><p>And for as long as he’s known Elizabeth she’s always been careful, considerate with her responses, taking her time to answer.  But this time it’s almost immediate, no hesitation when she throws the pass.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Touchdown.</p><p>--</p><p>They end up at a little hole in the wall bar he knows nearby, some place he used to go to blow off steam in the days after he got back from Afghanistan.  </p><p>Some place where no one knows each other’s names and no one cares.</p><p>And it’s just like he remembered too, down to the dim lights and dirty floors that stick to the bottom of his shoes as he leads Elizabeth to a hightop in the back corner to wait while he grabs them some beers.  </p><p>It’s weird being back here though, in the place where he worked through some of the lowest lows of his past, but it’d been the first place he could think of when he drove away from the school and maybe it just felt right, almost too perfect, to come back and try it again, right the wrongs of a more recent past with Elizabeth, his fut- </p><p>He clears his throat, nodding at the bartender when he puts down the two pints of lager, sliding over a twenty and telling the guy to keep the change. </p><p>“A’ight,” Rio says, dropping the glasses on the table, “so they don’t have any fancy rosés or anythin’ here.  Hope that’s not a problem.”</p><p>Elizabeth smiles, mumbles a soft <em> thank you </em> when he passes her a glass.</p><p>“I never really liked them anyway.”</p><p>“Nah? So what’s your poison then?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer, and really if he thinks about it now he’s only ever seen her with wine or coffee or that big-ass water bottle she carries around.</p><p>Elizabeth hums, taking her own drink before looking at him.</p><p>“Probably bourbon or a nice whiskey.”</p><p>“Always knew you had good taste,” he teases, and it’s worth it to see her roll her eyes.</p><p>“Present company excluded,” she adds then, teases back for a second before he sees her start to overthink it all again, her back straightening, her grip on the glass getting tighter.</p><p>“Whatever you gotta tell yourself,” he mutters in return, shaking his head when her lips twitch into a smirk that’s gone in a blink.</p><p>They’ve mostly got the bar to themselves, their only company just the bartender and some old guy that looks like he’s asleep on the cheap laminate countertop.  So when they both fall silent, drinking their beers quietly, it almost feels suffocating, like too much.</p><p>He rolls his shoulders, glancing back over at the bar long enough to catch the final play of the game on the tv, a Hail Mary pass that connects when a receiver fakes out their defender and lets the Lions score with one second on the clock.  </p><p>And right.</p><p>He can do that, especially when he notices the dart board still hanging up on the wall.</p><p>--</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“Just a friendly bet, darlin’,” Rio repeats, laying the darts on their table, separating them into piles for each of them.</p><p>“Over darts?” Elizabeth says, slowly, nose scrunching up as she tries to process what he’s doing.</p><p>Rio sighs, pushing her pile over to her.  </p><p>“Yeah, winner buys next round.”</p><p>She picks up one the darts, runs a manicured nail down the metal.</p><p>“Unless that’s not enough for you?” Rio adds, lifting an eyebrow.  “A’ight then, how about you win and I’ll actually do those new interviews you thought I didn’t notice magically appeared on your spreadsheet.”</p><p>Elizabeth huffs, and it actually was funny that she thought she was that slick, like he wouldn’t notice all those new calendar reminders.  </p><p>“But if I win then you gotta hire someone else to cater my election party.”</p><p>Because shit it wasn’t like Elizabeth wasn’t going to be busy enough that night, she didn’t need all that stress from baking too. </p><p>“And,” he adds, “you gotta throw out that one ugly shirt, the one with all the flowers you were wearin’ the other day.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Elizabeth squawks.  </p><p>“Oh so you get to throw out my clothes, but I can’t do the same?” Rio asks, pushing his lip out into a pout that works like a charm when Elizabeth’s eyes drop down, take it in, before finally she exhales.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Cool.” Rio smiles, grins really when Elizabeth slides off her stool and sweeps her hands against her skirt before picking up her darts and heading over to the board.</p><p>And he almost feels bad about the whole thing considering that Elizabeth has no idea just how much experience he has with this. </p><p>Not that he’s a pro by any means, but he used to play a couple rounds during the long nights on command and maybe he translated those skills into hustling drunks out of their cash when he got back.</p><p>But shit he’ll take any reason to not buy the next round. </p><p>(And that shirt was really fucking ugly.)</p><p>“Need some help?” he asks, trying to not be a complete dick.</p><p>Elizabeth hums, shifting on her feet, adjusting her stance before taking another step forward and starting again.  </p><p>“Just like this, right?”</p><p>And it feels like he’s in some kind of movie where time slows down or whatever as she throws the dart and it hits just outside the fucking bull’s eye.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>“Worked a summer in a bar during college,” she says, shrugging when she spins around to look at him again, smile tugging at her lips.  “Sometimes I had to do whatever it took for tips.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he drawls, rocking his jaw a little before picking up one of his own darts.  “Lets just see if you can do that again.” </p><p>--</p><p>The problem is she can and does with her second throw, and suddenly it’s not just about the next round, now it’s a matter of pride for him.  </p><p>But it’s cool, totally chill because he has a couple tricks of his own to play.  </p><p>He slides off his suit jacket on her next turn, waiting until she’s about to line up her shot to start rolling up his shirt sleeves, carefully, slowly, biting the inside of his mouth when her dart goes wide left.  </p><p>She clears her throat after that, side-stepping him quickly to take a drink of her beer, clearly annoyed and something else if that flush creeping its way up her neck is anything to go by. </p><p>He takes it up a notch on her next throw, watching her closely, hand under his jaw, thumb rubbing against his bottom lip, dragging it down before he lets his tongue peek out.  </p><p>Then her dart barely hits the board, sinks into the felt for a second before falling to the ground.</p><p>And shit it might be one of the easiest bets he’s ever won at this rate.  All he’s gotta do is hit in the second ring and he’s riding his way to a free drink.</p><p>He picks up his last dart, ready to just get it all over with, lining up his shot when Elizabeth coughs to his right, and he glances over without even realizing what he’s doing.  </p><p>That’s his first mistake.</p><p>His second is apparently underestimating Elizabeth Marks-Boland.</p><p>Because instead of sitting on her stool she’s leaning on the table now, bent forward enough that he’s got a nice view down the front of her dress, can almost make out the black lace she’s been hiding away, and okay maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought.</p><p>(Maybe he’s okay with that though.)</p><p>“You okay tiger?” she asks, voice all sugary sweet as she flutters her eyelashes at him.</p><p>Rio nods, closes his eyes for a beat, collecting himself to the matter at hand before taking his shot, wincing when it hits another dart on the board and bounces out.</p><p>“Oops,” she sighs, mock pouts, straightening up, “guess this means I win?”</p><p>--</p><p>She’s just finished putting away the darts when he gets back with their next round, smiling when he slides over the new beer.  </p><p>“You didn’t have to do this.”</p><p>“Nah, a bet’s a bet,” Rio replies, shifting his seat closer to her before lifting his glass.  “To your aim.”</p><p>Elizabeth laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges as she meets him halfway, raising her glass to cheers him, taking a sip when they’re done.</p><p>And this time the quiet isn’t so bad.  </p><p>Not so draining.</p><p>And even if nothing happens, he thinks this could be enough. Being able to be near each other again without that heaviness from before weighing them down, being friends even if he might want more. </p><p>He can live with that. </p><p>At some point the bartender must have flicked on a radio to fill the dead air after the football game ended, so there’s something faint playing, something Rio knows he’s heard before, the melody familiar enough.  </p><p>It’s only when it gets to the chorus that he places it, the memory of the song filling his grandmother’s kitchen when he was a kid.  How she’d always turn it up louder when he’d complain about how slow it was, how it didn’t have a good beat.  </p><p>He looks over at Elizabeth then, ready to make a smart comment, when he notices she’s closed her eyes, mouthing along softly to the lyrics as she swirls the beer in her glass.  </p><p>Huh.</p><p>And he can practically feel his grandmother behind him, pushing him, hassling him into standing.  </p><p>So he does, stretches out his hand to offer too, clearing his throat until she blinks up at him.  </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Oh come on, ma,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow.  “I know you’re not nervous about stepping on my toes.”</p><p>Elizabeth exhales, and for a second all he can hear is the lyrics repeating in the chorus, a love chosen over and over again, until finally she sets down her glass, sliding off the stool to take his hand.</p><p>They slot together easily, his arm around her waist, her hand not holding his curling around his shoulder, and at first all they do is sway, move side to side as they get used to being this close.  </p><p>He’s not sure which one of them shifts, just knows that somehow they’re suddenly even closer, their hands, hers so small laced in his, pressing against his chest, and that it’s enough for him to wrap his arm around her tighter, close his eyes when she tucks her face into the curve of his neck and her hair brushes his chin.</p><p>And it’s not like he’s ever been the type that cared that much about the idea of destiny or whatever, but there’s still something almost fucking poetic about the way they fit together, how perfectly Elizabeth feels against him, like she was made for him or he was made for her.</p><p>All her softness against all his hardness, melted together.</p><p>The song fades away, replaced with something faster, more recent, but neither of them let go, stop rocking back and forth.</p><p>“I never apologized for the other day,” Elizabeth whispers eventually, minutes, hours later. </p><p>“What for?” Rio asks, words getting stuck in his throat when he breathes in the vanilla of her shampoo.</p><p>Her hand tightens in his. </p><p>“It’s complicated with my grandfather,” she sighs, face still pressed against him, hidden away.  “His love has always had these strings attached to it, things I was expected to do with Dean, then after him, and I just -” she pauses, drags her nails along the base of his neck, “I still can’t face him, not really.”</p><p>Rio hums, and honestly it’s not like he hadn’t suspected there was something going on, hadn’t spent the rest of his day trying to piece together what had happened, what Annie had said.</p><p>He waits a second, just in case she says anything else, but when she doesn’t, presses closer to him still, he dips his head down so he’s right by her ear.</p><p>“You never gotta worry about that with me, yeah?  Not now, not ever.”</p><p>Elizabeth freezes, finally pulling back to look at him, eyes so soft, and it’s got to be her.  He can’t bridge this gap, can’t push her into anything, it’s got to be her making this choice.</p><p>And she does.</p><p>Or at least he thinks she does because she starts to lean in, but then that fucking bartender has to ruin it all.</p><p>“Closing time folks.  Probably wanna take that somewhere else.”</p><p>Elizabeth blinks, smiles softly as she steps back, away from him to head back to their table, scooping up her purse and his jacket, sliding it on, covering those soft edges before brushing her hand along his arm.  </p><p>“I’ll meet you outside.”</p><p>The door bounces shut behind her, leaving just a stream of cold air that seeps into his bones immediately, and that could have probably gone better, he thinks, glaring at the bartender.</p><p>--</p><p>His phone vibrates when he finally starts to leave too, some messages from his folks about Marcus and how happy he’d been to spend the night in the new bunk-bed they’d gotten just for him.  </p><p>They sent some pictures too and he’s in the middle of scrolling through them, almost halfway across the parking lot when he realizes Elizabeth’s not by his car.  </p><p>Not out on the sidewalk either. </p><p>It’s only when he catches the flash of red out of the corner of his eye, flickering light that he finds her, leaning against a brick wall, lit cigarette between her fingers.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“All good?” he asks, voice quiet, quieter than he intended, resting his shoulder into the wall next to her, not too close just in case she’s already changed her mind.</p><p>Elizabeth nods, flicking the cigarette softly, letting the ashes blow away, and Rio turns his head, follows the specks of red until they bleed into the darkness before looking back at her.  </p><p>“You got another one of those, Elizabeth?”</p><p>It rolls off his tongue, it always has, and shit maybe one day he should actually ask if he should call her Beth.  But there’s just something about her full name, the way he can savor it when he speaks it, like he’s keeping her with him for longer before it’s shared with everyone else.  </p><p>She exhales, shifting enough to take him in, slight smile on her face when she shakes her head and drops the cigarette to the ground between them, stomping it out with her foot.  </p><p>“You know,” she says, sighs really, lifting a hand to toy with one of his buttons, “this would be so much easier with a tie.”</p><p>Her hand twists then, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down to meet her for a kiss that’s immediately deep, heavy.</p><p>That’s fucking perfect.</p><p>He takes a beat to fully get that this is actually happening before he pushes her back against the wall, cradling her head in his hand so she doesn’t fuck it up on the brick, and he can feel his knuckles grind into the stone, break the skin, but it’s worth it when she opens up to him and he gets to taste her again.</p><p>All that sweetness he’d been missing, craving since the last time.</p><p>She arches under his hand, pushing into him, and it’s enough of a hint for him to reach down and tug aside her dress, run a finger along the lace she’d teased him with earlier, get a hand on her chest, soft then harder when she practically purrs at his touch.</p><p>And he should slow down, be gentler, <em> something </em> to show her how much this, <em> she, </em> means, but he can’t. </p><p>He can’t stop himself from breaking their kiss to mark her neck instead, can’t stop himself from slipping his fingers under her skirt, can’t stop himself from pushing aside the lace covering her to get his fingers on her, in her. </p><p>She’s wet, already so fucking wet, so fucking soft, and he has to close his eyes when she starts whimpering in his ear, gasping with each twist of his fingers, swipe of his thumb on her clit.  </p><p>It’s too much, too much but still not enough, and honestly he’s not sure what will be ever enough.</p><p>“Shit,” Elizabeth breathes, dragging her nails through his hair, pressing him down harder into her neck.  </p><p>“Like that?” Rio mumbles, biting her pale skin, groaning when she squeezes around his fingers, and shit he could lose himself to this, to her. </p><p>(And what a way to go.)</p><p>“More,” Elizabeth sighs, all shaky and broken.</p><p>Rio huffs, all fucking shaky and broken too, and shit he can do more.  </p><p>So he starts to press in another finger, shifts his hand enough so she can grind against his palm, only she reaches down and stops him.  </p><p>And right, of course, shit, they’re practically out in the middle of this fucking parking lot.  It’s stupid to keep doing this out here.  </p><p>He moves back a little, hoping he can convince her to come back to his, when she stops him again, cradles his face in one hand, drawing him in for another kiss, this one softer, while her other hand drops to his belt, releasing it before starting on his pants button. </p><p>And fuck he’s never been that smart anyway, he thinks, shoving his hands under her skirt again to pull down her panties before lifting her so she can wrap her legs around him and he can press inside her until his hips are flush with hers.</p><p>Besides they’re hidden away enough, it’s dark enough, shit, it’s fine. </p><p>More than fine.</p><p>She breaks their kiss this time, nips his bottom lip before dropping her head to his neck, pushing away his shirt so she can pant all wet against his skin, and he adjusts his grip, angles her a little so he can hit deeper, harder.  </p><p>“Still mad ‘bout that tie?” he grunts, groans when she squeezes around him, all warm heat and softness, and this is going to be over before he knows it if he doesn’t get some control soon. </p><p>Elizabeth scoffs, leans back so he can see her eyes, black save for the small rings of blue that close after he manages to find that one spot inside her.</p><p>“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he adds, kissing her quickly, “I can bring it out later for you, if you want.”</p><p>“For me,” she gasps when his hand drops to get on her clit again, “or for you?”</p><p>He laughs, the sound cutting out when she digs her nails into the side of his neck.</p><p>“Guess you gotta find out.”</p><p>And that’s apparently enough to tip her over, get her moaning in his ear, and then he’s gone too, spilling into her on a choked <em> Elizabeth </em>.</p><p>--</p><p>They untangle slowly, reluctantly, and he reaches out to run his fingers along the neckline, fixing it, when he realizes he’s not ready to stop touching her yet.</p><p>And she must feel the same way because she smiles at him, all blissed out and dreamy, before sliding her hand over his, pulling it down so she can hold it properly, fingers interlaced.  </p><p>“Let's go home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always a million thank you's to fortunehasgivenup for looking this over for me and always being a willing sounding board.  She's the best.  And another million thank you's to Rena aka zetuslapetus for being so incredibly supportive and encouraging while I wrote this - she is the reason this chapter exists and why I was so motivated to actually write it.  And special shout-out to Gina aka riosnosestud for forcing me to include a scene where Brio dance - I hope it lives up your expectations.</p><p>AND thank you to everyone for reading/leaving kudos/comments - I appreciate you so much and I promise the next update won't take me quite as long.  Also yes - this fic now has four chapters.  Whoops?  </p><p>Come watch me spiral over Brio in real time over on tumblr at medievalraven.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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